^ 


ptOfjIEOf  J^YENTURE^em^^^Ci^ 


n.  C.  f,-  Nov 


VOL.  7. 


NOVELIST  PUBLISHING  CO, 


No.  18  KOSE 


IjISHINU  CO.,   I  7VTT?\"I'     \'.\OT'"  i 

STREET.  ,  iN^vVN  1    OKK.  \ 


Single  Copy,   I  O  Cents. 


NO.  282. 


Their  Delective;"'^^y!!!l!*"'°" 


Paul  Phillips,  the  Union  spy  of  Richmond,  makes  a  uesperaie  break  for  liberty 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


^  g  SECRET    SERVICE    IN    THE    REBELLION. 

story  of  Booth's  Great  Conspiracy. 


MAJOR   A.    F.    GRANT. 


CHAPTER   f. 


JOHN   WILKES   BOOTH 

"  Look  at  that,  l)oy,  and  lend  me  your  opinion," 

The  speaker,  a  man  apparently  fifty  years  of  age,  threw  into  a 
youth's  lap  a  piece  of  paper,  folded  like  most  business  communica- 
tions usually  are. 

"What!  have  you  been  getting  letters?"  smiled  the  young  man, 
as  he  picked  up  the  paper  and  began  to  unfold  it. 

"  It  looks  that  way,  and  from  high  authority,  too. 

"  Not  from "   Here  the  speaker  opened  the  letter,  and  finished 

with  an  exclamation  :  "  From  President  Davis !" 

"Yes,  from  Jeff  himself,"  was  the  reply.  "Its  contents  will 
both  surprise  and  puzzle  you,  but  read  and  see  whether  I  am  cor- 
rect or  not." 

The  next  moment  the  youth  was  reading  the  letter  which  was 
quite  brief,  and  in  the  well  known  handwriting  of  the  president 
of  the  Southern  Confederacy. 

This  was  what  he  read  : 


"Mr.  Cantwell:  Dear  .Sir— It  is  my  earnest  desire  that  you 
discover  something  about  the  man  Maxon  as  soon  as  possible.  I 
am  fearful  that  he  is  a  Northern  agent  in  Colonel  Baker's  pay.  I 
t)lace  much  reliance  on  you,  and  feel  assured  that  you  will  devote 

rour  time  and  energies  to  the  service  of  the  Confederacy.  Maxon, 
teel,  from  what  I  have  learned,  is  not  a  proper  person  to  be  in 
Richmond  at  this  time.    Very  truly  yours, 

"  jErrEKSON  Davis." 

"From  the  head  of  the  Confederacy  himself,  and  no  mistake," 
said  the  younger  of  the  twain,  aloud,  looking  up  into  the  almost 
expressionless  face  of  his  companion. 

"You  are  right,  Leon.  This  letter  both  surprises  and  puzzles 
me.  Why  should  Davis  address  it  to  you,  and  who  is  this  man 
Maxon  suspected  of  being  one  of  Baker's  spies  ?" 

A  slight  smile  appeared  at  the  corners  of  the  listener's  mouth. 

"One question  at  a  time,  Paul,"  he  said.  "  Mr.  Davis  addresses 
me  because  he  thinks  I  am  a  proper  person  to  attend  to  Maxon. 
When  did  I  meet  the  rebel  president?  Oh,  since  you  left  Rich- 
mond I  have  had  several  interviews  with  his  excellency." 

"You  have?"  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "By  heavens!  you 
have  more  courage  thau  Maxon  !" 

"  One  needs  a  little  courage  here  to  play  the  game  I  am  playing, 
eh,  Paul?"  was  the  reply.  "  Yes,  Jefferson  Davis  thinks  me  loyal 
to  the  cause,  even  now  on  its  last  legs  in  the  trenches  before 
Petersburg.  Why  should  hesuspecta  man  introduced  and  vouched 
for  by  his  own  secretary  of  war  ?" 

Paul  looked  astonished. 

"  Who  vouched  for  you  to  the  secretary  ?"  he  asked. 

"My  letters." 

"From  whom  ?" 

"From  some  of  the  secretary's  Canadian  friends,  let  us  say, 
Paul.  Why,  sir,  I've  been  a  frequent  vi.sitor  at  the  Confederate 
war  office  during  the  last  fortnight.  I  could  stuff  you  with  infor- 
mation that  would  delight  Grant,  and  take  much  of  the  sadness 
from  Lincoln's  face.  I'm  not  a  secret  agent  of  this  tottering  gov- 
ernment, although  that  letter  would  make  me  one.  Now,  to  your 
next  question :  Who  is  the  man  Maxon  ?  I  fancy  you  would  start 
if  you  knew." 

Paul  did  not  reply,  but  kept  looking  into  the  speaker's  face. 

"  We  detectives  always  have  secrets,"  he  went  on,  "  and  the  one 
I  am  about  to  impart  would  speedily  put  a  hangman's  noose  over 
my  head  if  it  was  known  beyond  these  walls.    I  am  Maxon." 

The  youth,  not  prepared  for  such  a  revelation,  almost  started 
from  his  chair. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Davis  wants  you  to  hunt  down  and 
hang  yourself?"  he  cried. 

"He  means  that  and  nothing  less,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "I 
fear  that,  as  Maxon,  the  Tennessean,  I  took  one  step  too  many,  but 
it  cannot  be  recalled  at  this  stage  of  the  game.  At  any  rate,  I  am 
suspected,  it  seems — as  Maxon,  I  mean— but  as  yet  no  one  believes 
that  Cantwell  is  a  Northern  detective  in  the  Confederate  capital." 

"  But  how  long  will  you  be  safe  if  Maxon  is  suspected  ?"  asked 
Paul,  quickly. 

"Until  I  fulfill  my  mission  here." 

"  When  will  that  be  ?" 

"  Before  morning,  if  my  friend  keeps  her  appointment. 

"Then  you  have  taken  a  woman  into  your  oonfldence?" 


"Why  not?  You  forget,  Paul,  that  you  have  been  gone  three 
weeks.    In  that  period  I  have  had  time  to  play  several  games." 

"  I  know  that,  Leon,  but " 

"  You  don't  like  this  woman  business  ?" 

"  I  confess  frankly  that  I  do  not.  You  are  an  old  detective  and 
kuow  what  is  best,  I  suppose,  but  were  I  in  your  shoes  here  in  the 
heart  of  the  Southern  Confederacy,  I  would  let  women  severely 

Cantwell  smiled  again. 

"  1  admire  your  frankness,  boy,"  he  said.  "  Nevertheless  I  have 
intrusted  my  identity  to  a  woman.  She  could  go  out  on  the  streets 
of  Richmond  and  by  one  word  have  me  lanched  into  eternity  before 
to-moriow.  This  woman  I  never  saw  before  I  came  here.  I  never 
met  her  until  a  few  days  ago.  She  is  a  mystery,  for  I  never  even 
saw  her  face." 

Paul,  the  youth,  could  hardly  repress  au  exclamation  of  aston- 
ishment. 

"  I  speak  the  truth,"  the  war  detective  went  on.  "  I  have  heard 
her  voice;  she  has  talked  with  me  for  an  hour,  but  I  cannot  say 
whether  she  is  homely,  or  as  beautiful  as  Psyche.  She  has  never 
told  me  that  she  is  loyal  to  the  Union.  For  all  I  know,  she  may 
be  a  Confederate." 

Paul  did  not  speak,  he  sat  at  the  table  with  a  stare  of  wonder- 
ment, as  it  he  doubted  Cantwell's  sanity. 

"  I  have  said  that  my  mission  to  Richmond  may  end,  if  she 
keeps  her  appointment,  before  morning,"  continued  the  detective, 
taking  out  his  watch.  "She  should  be  here  now.  If  she  does  not 
come  to-night " 

A  low  rapping  like  a  signal  broke  Cantwell's  sentence,  and  Paul 
threw  a  quick  look  toward  the  door. 

"She  is  here,  Paul.  Quick!  enter  yon  room,  but  do  not  close 
the  door  tightly.  I  want  you  to  see  something  of  this  woman,  and 
I  also  want  you  to  hear  her  report." 

The  young  man  left  the  room  and  entered  au  apartment  a  few 
steps  away,  closing  the  door  after  him  in  a  manner  that  left  a  lit- 
tle space,  to  which  he  applied  his  eyes. 

The  graceful  form  and  carriage  noticed  by  Paul  as  the  detec- 
tive's visitor  advanced  to  the  chair  he  had  just  vacated,  told  him 
that  the  lady  was  young  and  accomplished. 

His  fingers  itched  to  lift  the  dark  brown  veil,  and  expose  the 
iaoe  which  Cantwell  even  had  not  seen. 

"  I  have  not  been  waiting  for  you  long,"  said  the  detective,  as  if 
in  response  to  a  remark  by  his  visitor  as  she  dropped  into  the? 
chair.  "I  have  been  amused  with  a  letter  which  I  received  a  few 
minutes  ago." 

"A  letter?"  echoed  the  lady,  in  a  voice  whose  rich  tones  fell 
melodiously  on  Paul's  ears.    "  Was  it  delivered  ?" 

"It  was;"  and  drawing  from  his  pocket  the  letter  he  had  re- 
ceived from  Jefferson  Davis,  Cantwell  placed  it  in  her  hands. 

Paul  saw  a  pair  of  gloved  hands  unfold  the  letter  and  hold  it  in 
a  manner  so  as  to  place  the  lamp  almost  between  her  and  it. 

Then,  for  a  while,  she  read  through  the  veil. 

"Well,  will  you  find  Mr.  Maxon  ?"  she  asked,  suddenly  turning 
upon  Cantwell.  "  Mr.  Davis,  I  am  sure,  is  quite  anxious  to  fix  his 
identity." 

Paul  was  anxious  to  hear  Cantwell's  reply. 

Did  the  strange  woman  know  that  he  and  Maxon  were  one  ? 

Wasit  possible  that  Cantwell  had  surrendered  to  her  all  his 
secrets  ? 

"  I  may  hunt  for  Mr.  Maxon,"  was  the  reply,  in  all  seriousness; 
"  but  I  am  anxious  to  leave  Richmond.  I  have  been  here  six 
months,  you  know,  and  six  months  in  the  shadow  of  the  halter  is 
not  a  pleasant  residence.    I  have  tarried  here  for  your  report." 

The  last  sentence  seemed  to  shut  off  further  questioning  by  the 
woman. 

She  laid  the  letter,  folded  carefully,  within  Cantwell's  reach,  and 
threw  a  rapid  glance  around  the  room. 

"  My  report  ?"  she  said.  "  Yes,  you  have  been  waiting  for  that.  I 
have  not  forgotten  it.  I  have  been  playing  a  role  from  which  I 
would  have  shrunk  with  loathing,  a  short  time  ago.  I  have  turned 
spy,  informer,  traitoress,  and  sleuth-hound.  I  almost  wish  to  God 
that  I  had  never  seen  the  light  of  day.  I  have  told  you  that  there 
is  on  foot  the  blackest  conspiracy  ever  bom  in  the  brain  of  man. 
The  bare  mention  of  it  would  chill  your  blood.  It  has  chilled 
mine.  I  cannot  think  of  it  without  a  shudder.  My  God!  why  did 
I  ever  meet  you,  Silas  Cantwell  ?  Why  did  I  ever  intimate  that  I 
knew  a  trail  blacker  than  the  road  that  leads  to  perdition  ?" 

The  veiled  speaker  left  her  chair  and  started  toward  the  door. 

Cantwell  did  not  attempt  to  detain  her,  but  fixed  upon  her  bid 
penetrating  black  eyes  without  a  single  glance  toward  Paul. 

"I  ought  to  fly,  and  yet  I  ought  to  tell  you  all  I  know,"  she  went 
on,  coming  back  from  the  door  whose  knob  her  fingers  had  actual 
ly  touched.  "  Silas  Cantwell,  you  know  and  I  know  that  the 
cause  of  the  South  is  lost.  Grant  cannot  be  kept  from  this  city 
much  longer,   Four  years  ot  blood'«bed  will  eetablish  no  rival 


THE  WaR  LIBBAKY. 


Union  in  this  country.  I  thank  God  for  that !  Thousands  of  blue- 
coats  and  gray-jaokets  hare  fallen  in  battle;  but  the  end  is  near 
at  hand.  It  is  to  be  an  end  that  will  shook  the  world.  One  man 
has  sworn  to  make  history  that  will  never  be  forgotten  ;  he  has 
recorded  in  Heaven  an  oath  before  which  you  would  stand 
aghast.  You  want  me  to  tell  you  what  that  oath  is,  for  unless  you 
know,  neither  you  nor  auy  one  else  can  frustrate  him.  But  I  can- 
not tell  you  what  it  is." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  war  detective,  calmly.  "This  is  your 
final  report,  I  suppose.  For  this  I  have  overstayed  roy  time  In  the 
rebel  capital,  and  disobeyed  my  superior." 
There  was  a  tinge  of  bitterness  in  Oantwell's  tones. 
"  Cantwell,  Cantwell !  I  am  oath-bound  as  to  the  awful  scheme 
afoot,"  cried  the  mysterious  Tomau.  "  Would  to  Heaven  I  had 
died  before  I  took  the  vow.  I  followed  him  too  closely.  I  ferreted 
him  out  wherever  he  went.  I  have  been  his  shadow  for  days.  He 
is  in  Richmond  now  ;  but  he  may  not  be  here  at  daylight." 

Paul  laid  his  hand  on  the  door-knob,  for  an  almost  uncontrolla- 
ble impulse  was  forcing  him  into  the  room  where  Cantwell  faced 
his  excited  visitor. 

"  Ha!  he  turned  ou  you  when  you  got  too  close,  eh?"  said   Cant- 
well, in  a  voice  that  kept  Paul  back. 
"Yes,  yes." 

"  And  he  bound  you  to  secrecy  by  an  oath  7" 
"  Au  oath  that  rings  in  my  ears  this  moment." 
"  Go  over  it  in  your  mind.    He  swore  you  not  to  reveal  his  plot; 
not  to  expose  his  scheme.    Dare   you   reveal  his  name?    It  you 
dare,  speak  out,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me." 

Paul  could  see  that  the  detective's  eyes  seemed  to  burn  their 
way  through  the  veil  that  hid  the  woman's  face. 

She  rose  slowly  from  the  chair  and  threw  a  right  hand  heaven- 
ward. 

"  Record  it  against  me.  Heaven,  if  in  speaking  his  name  I  break 
my  oath,"  she  said,  solemnly.    "  He  swore  me  not  to  reveal  what  I 
had  heard  and  seen.    I  will  take  upon  myself  the  responsibility  of 
speaking  his  name.    If  I  violate  the  awful  vow  he  forced  from  my 
lips,  may  the  penalty  he  attached  to  it  be  visited  upon  my  head." 
Cantwell  looked  like  a  man  who  had  triumphed. 
The  uplifted  arm  dropped  at  the  woman's  side  again,  and  her 
kidden  face  was  turned  upon  the  detective. 
"His  name  now?" 
"John  Wilkes  Booth!" 

The  name  seemed  to  flud  an  echo  in  Paul's  heart. 
"Ho!"  he  ejaculated;  "was  all  that  theatrical  display  for  the 
jiurpose  of  meutiouing  that  name?    I've  seen  the  fellow  on  the 
boards.  " 

As  for  CMiilwell,  l:e  had  niaili'  no  reply  to  the  revelation,  and  it 
'tvas  easy  to  see  that  the  name  of  the  young  actor  had  strangely 
impressed  him. 
The  time  was  near  when  it  would  startle  a  world. 


I  startle 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE   BIT   OF    PAPER. 

.lohn  Wilkes  Booth  ! 

What  was  there  in  the  sound  of  that  name  at  that 
any  one  ? 

He  was  an  actor  of  some  repute,  who  had  starred  with  success 
through  the  principal  cities  of  the  North,  drawing  crowds  as 
much  by  the  fame  of  his  father  as  by  his  own  merits. 

He  was  known  everywhere  as  the  son  of  Junius  Brutus  Booth,  a 
tragedian  of  note,  and  one  of  the  greatest  Richards  the  stage  has 
ever  seen. 

His  friends  knew  that  his  heart  was  wrapped  up  in  the  cause  of 
the  Confederacy,  but  not  one  of  them  dreamed  that  he  was  about 
to  establish  hi;-,  fame  in  a  manner  which  would  cover  his  name 
with  curses  for  all  time  to  come. 

Paul,  the  youth  who  even  laughed  at  the  veiled  woman's  rela- 
tion, knew  Booth  ;  he  had  seen  him  act,  and  had  a  passing  ac- 
quaintance with  him. 

That  he  was  maturing  a  plot,  the  consummation  of  which  was  to 
startle  a  world,  wcs,  in  his  estimation,  preposterous. 

In  short,  he  did  not  believe  it. 

Suddenly  Cantwell  started  toward' the  woman. 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said.  "  So  it  is  J.  Wilkes  Booth,  or  Wilkes,  as 
I  used  to  call  him  who  bound  you  with  an  oath  ?" 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?" 


He  was  here  before  the  war  and  played  1 
We  got  pretty  thick  then.    So  he  is  here  now  ?    I  wonder  if  he'd 
know  me?" 

Cantwell  spoke  the  last  sentence  in  a  meditative  strain,  and  but 
half  audible. 

"  Are  you  going  to  see  him  ?"  asked  the  veiled  woman,  display- 
ing some  agitation  despite  the  mask. 

"Why  not?" 


"  He  might  betray  you.  You  forget  that  the  South  has  no  truer 
friend  than  Wilkes  Booth." 

"  He,  for  the  Confederacy  ?  X  might  have  known  that.  When 
we  parted  last  the  North  was  being  aroused  by  the  guns  of  Fort 
Sumter,  and  he  said:  '  Good-by,  Silas.  There'll  be  two  govern- 
ments on  this  continent  when  the  battle  smoke  clears  away."  I 
haven't  seen  him  since.  Yes,  I  will  see  him  if  I  can,  and  I  will 
know  in  what  way  he  is  going  to  9ho(^k  the  world." 

"  Find  out,  for  Heaven's  sake,  and  do  so  quickly,  cried  the  strange 
woman,  laying  her  hand  on  the  war  detective's  arm.  "  1  dare  not 
tell  you  what  I  have  heard.  Oh.  I  wish  I  had  never  been  bora! 
When  the  time  comes— when  the  deed  has  been  done,  Cantwell, 
think  of  me  and  feel  how  I  would  like  to  have  prevented  it." 
Her  hand  fell  from  Cautwell's  arm,  and  she  stepped  back. 
"  We  may  never  meet  again,"  said  the  detective,  stepping  toward 
her.  "  I  may  leave  Richmond  within  the  ne.xt  three  hours,  but  I 
cannot  say.  Recollect,  that  I  have  never  even  sought  to  know 
your  name.  You  are  at  liberiy  to  leave  my  room ;  but  if  you  will 
show  your  face,  I  will  look ;  if  you  wish  to  speak  your  name,  I  will 
listen."  • 

"  Cantwell,  I  will  satisfy  your  curiosity,  '  was  the  answer.  "  You 
may  call  me  Pauline;  as  for  my  face,  behold  it." 

With  the  last  word  one  of  the  gloved  hands  raised  the  veil  and 
showfcC  the  face  of  a  young  woman,  who  could  not  have  passed 
her  twentieth  year. 

It  was  fair  and  faultless  in  symmetry,  with  large,  lustrous  blue 
eyes,  a  bewitching  mouth,  and  crowned  with  a  look  of  intelli- 
gence. 

Cantwell.  at  once  struck  with  its  beauty,   leaned  forward   with 
an  e.xpression  of  admiration  on  his  lips,  but  at  that  moment  the 
veil  dropped  over  the  pleasing  picture,  and  Pauline's  voice  said  : 
"  Enough.    I  must  go." 

The  war  detective  would  have  restrained  the  beauty  of  Richmond 
if  the  door  behind  him  had  not  been  thrown  open  at  that  instant, 
and  Paul  leaped  info  the  room. 

"  Let  me  see  that  face  again!"  he  cried,  halting  before  the  mys- 
terious woman.    "  Can  it  be  that  I  stand  before " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  piercing  cry  from  the  unseen  lips. 
"  No— no  !"  and  the  veiled  womau  moved  toward  the  door.  "lu 
the  name  of  Heaven  what  brought  j/oii  to  Richmond?"  she  cried, 
looking  at  Paul.  "Which  flag  do  you  serve?  Paul  Phillips,  you 
rise  before  me  likea  ghost.  Are  you  a  Northern  spy,  like  that  man 
there?  Has  Colonel  Baker  sent  you  to  Richmond  to  die  with  a 
rope  around  your  neck  ?  Go  back  to  the  Yankee  army !  Cantwell, 
send  him  from  Richmond  this  very  night.  Me  will  obey  you,  or  he 
would  not  be  here  now.  There  was  a  time  when  he  refused  to  lis- 
ten to  me.  He  will  refuse  again.  Paul,  there  is  a  man  in  Rich- 
mond who  knows  that  you  are  here  as  a  Union  agent.  I  did  not 
expect  to  meet  you  here;  but  I  did  not  forget  your  papers.  Here 
they  are.    The  ne.xt  time  keep  your  discoveries  from  paper." 

As  she  finished,  the  veiled  woman  threw  a;  packet  at  Paul's 
feet. 

He  lost  color  as  he  pounced  upon  it,  and  clutched  it  with  an  ejac- 
ulation of  joy. 

"He  had  those  papers  stolen  from  him  a  few  nights  ago,"  said 
Pauline,  turning  to  Cantwell.  "They're  enough  to  hang  him.  Do 
you  always  let  your  scholars— your  spies— write  their  discoveries 
down  in  the  enemies  country?  I  got  his  papers  for  him.  I  have 
saved  his  life.  No  thanks,  Paul  Phillips.  The  next  time  exercise 
a  little  more  discretion." 
She  pulled  the  door  open  and  stepped  across  the  threshold. 
Paul  leaped  forward. 

"  Pauline,  one  word— one " 

"  No  ;  not  another  syllable!"  and  she  was  gone. 
For  a  minute  the  young  man  stood  in  the  doorway  with  the  echo 
of  her  refusal  in  his  ears,  then  he  was  recalled  to  the  present  by 
Cantwell's  voice. 

"  Hang  me,  if  I  know  who  mystifies  me  the  most— you  or  that 
strange  woman,"  said  the  war  detective.  "  You  have  met  her  be- 
fore, it  seems?" 

"Yes;  but  stop  where  you  are,  Cantwell,"  said  Paul,  coming 
forward,  with  uplifted  hand.  "  I  did  not  think  she  was  in  Rich- 
mond.   Heaven,  I  wish  I  could  forget  some  things!" 

"If  you  had    had    a  little    more   patience  1  would  have  got  his 
whereabouts  from  Pauline,"  he  said.    "  Now  I'll  have  to  hunt  him 
for  myself." 
"  And  you  are  still  determined  to  find  him  ?" 


"  You  think  him  capabable  of  doing  something  against  the 
North  ?" 

"  There,"  said  the  detective,  gently,  but  with  resolution.  "  I  told 
you  awhile  ago,  Paul,  that  we  detectives  have  some  sacred  secrets. 
Let  me  say  that  I  will  see  Wilkes  Booth  if  I  can  before  I  leave 
Richmond.  Do  you  know  what  brings  him  here  at  this  time  ?  Do 
you  not  know  that  the  air  in  certain  quarters  is  filled  with  threats 
ot  assassination  ?" 


THE  WAR   LIBRARY. 


"  I  know  that  Grant's  life  ia  threatened.  Men  skv  i.peiily  here 
that  he  will  never  live  to  take  Lee's  sword.  " 

"  Tell  me  the  man  who  said  that.  You  have  been  in  Biehtnoud 
long  enough  to  know  the  prominent  Confederates.  Can  you  name 
theman  who  threatened  Grant?" 

"  I  can  do  so.  It  was  Colonel  Opal— a  mau  whom  you  must 
know." 

"  Colonel  Opal!"  echoed  Cantwell.  "  "SVhy,  tliat  man  presented 
Wilkes  Booth  with  a  magnificent  wardrobe  for  Richard  III.  when 
he  last  played  in  Richmond.     What  do  you  think  now,  Paul  ?" 

"  It  proves  nothing.  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  connect  Colonel 
Opal's  boast  with  the  wild  scheme  Pauline  ascribes  to  Booth's 
brain." 

The  detective  was  silent. 

"  This  Colonel  Opal  is  a  flre-eater  of  the  first  class,"  he  said,  after 
awhile.  "  I  have  made  a  study  of  him  during  your  absence  from 
tliecity.  He  is  capable  of  really  doing  something  desperate.  1 
liave  my  doubts  whether  he  is  altogether  in  his  right  mind." 

"Then  his  boasts  and  threats  amount  to  nothiug." 

Cantwell  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"There  may  be  a  method  in  his  madness,  '  he  said.  "Since  you 
know  liim,  let  me  ask  if  you  have  ever  seen  any  of  his  hand- 
writing'/' 

"I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  it." 

"  Enough  to  recognize  a  specimen  of  it  if  one  were  placed  before 
him?" 

"  I  think  so." 

Cantwell  made  no  reply  but  drew  from  his  pocket  a  slip  of 
paper,  which  had  been  torn  into  three  pieces,  but  was  now  a 
whole,  liaviug  been  piisted  together. 

He  stepped  to  the  talile  and  laid  the  paper  under  the  lamp, 
knowing  that  tlie  young  man  had  followed  him  and  was  then  at 
his  side. 

"Is  that  in  Colonel  Opal's  handwriting:'"  queried  Cantwell, 
glancing  fiom  the  paper  to  Paul.  "Bend  down  and  view  it  closely. 
It  is  written  with  a  pencil.  Look  sharp,  my  boy.  What's  the 
matter  ?    You're  losing  color  again." 

It  was  true  that  Paul  Phillips'  face  was  quite  white,  and  his  eyes 
wliiih  seemed  ready  to  leap  from  his  head,  were  staring  at  the 
little  piece  of  paper  Cantwell's  hands  were  holding  on   the  table. 

"  That's  not  Colonel  Opal's  chirography.  He  never  wrote  a  line 
of  it !  '  said  Paul,  finding  his  tongue. 

■  Whose  is  itl'    Do  you  know?" 

■  Yes.     It  ia  Wilkes  Booth's!" 

t'iiui  well's  hands  left  the  table:  he  straightened   up  and  whirled 

"  Are  you  sure  that  Wilkes  Booth  penned  that  line?"  he  asketl. 

"  I  :iiii.  My  brother  used  to  correspond  with  him.  I  am  familial 
with  his  writing.  I  would  swear  to  that  terrible  sentence  beiinr 
from  his  hand." 

Cantwell  turned  to  the  paper  and  read  its  single  line  with  flash- 
ing eyes. 

I'.ri.^i  it  was: 

"  .\BRAHAM  Lincoln;  Died,  March  4, 1805." 

I'anI  looked  at  the  detective  as  if  he  were  trying  lo  intercept  the 
thoughts  passing  through  his  brain. 

"  111  make  that  sentence  a  lie!"  grated  Cantwell,  suddenly,  be- 
tween clinched  teeth.     "  Paul,  you  go  at  once  to  Washington." 

"To  Washington?  • 

"  To  Colonel  Baker." 

The  war  detective  picked  up  the  startling  paper  and  threw  him- 
^elf  into  a  chair  at  the  table. 

Then  he  drew  writing  materials  to  him,  and  wrote  rapidly  in 
cypher  for  five  minutes. 

"  Now,  sir,  to  Baker !"  he  said,  rising  and  thrusting  what  he  had 
written  into  Paul's  hands.  "Yon  are  not  to  say  a  word  to  any 
living  creature  about  the  contents  of  the  paper  I  have  shown  you. 
Baker  will  give  you  something  to  do  till  I  come.  If  Wilkes  Booth 
wrote  that  sentence,  there's  something  in  his  wild  scheme.  To 
Washington !" 

Paul  concealed  the  letter  for  the  chief  of  the  secret  service  be- 
neath his  coat,  and  picked  up  his  bat. 

One  would  think  that  the  two  men  would  have  exchanged  good- 
nights,  but  neither  uttered  a  syllable,  and  a  moment  later  Cantwell 
was  alone. 

Aa  for  Paul  Phillips,  he  left  the  house  and  stood  for  a  moment 
on  the  street  in  the  starlight,  as  though  loth  to  bid  the  rebel  capi- 
tal farewell." 

"To  Waahingtonl  "  he  ejaculated,  starting  forward.  "I  have 
promised  to  obey  Leon's  every  command,  and  I'll  place  thecypher 
message  in  Baker's  hands,  or  die." 

Those  are  brave  words,  Paul  Phillips,  and  thrilling  scenes  will 
aoon  make  you  recall  them  a  thousand  times. 

The  route  to  Washington  is  not  strewn  with  flowers;  a  trailer  is 
already  at  your  heels. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  ARCH  SCHEMER. 

When  the  war  detective's  messenger  moved  oft  he  was  watched 
by  the  keenest  eyes  in  Richmond. 

A  lithe  figure  clad  in  men's  garments,  but  with  the  Btealthy 
tread  of  a  leopard,  moved  after  him  from  a  certain  spot,  as  it  it 
liad  been  waiting  for  him  lo  emerge  from  the  house. 

Paul  walked  rapidly  toward  that  part  of  the  Confederate  capital 
from  whence  on  several  occasions  prior  to  the  opening  of  our 
story  he  had  made  his  way  to  Grant's  army,  laying  active  siege  to 
Petersburg. 

Not  for  one  moment  did  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  tracker  lose  sight 
of  Paul. 

Whenever  the  young  man  stopped  the  trailer  stopped  also,  and 
when  Paul  found  himself  among  the  suburbs  of  Richmond  his 
watcher  bottuded  forward  with  great  eagerness. 

Then  it  was  that  Paul  heard  his  footsteps  for  the  first  time,  and 
as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  form  moving  toward  him  through 
the  starlight,  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  revolver. 

"Is  my  mission  already  known?  Can  it  be  that  I  have  been 
tracked?"  he  murmured,  and  then  as  the  advancing  person  had 
reached  a  spot  within  five  feet  of  him  he  leveled  the  weapon  and 
said  "  halt ! "  in  tones  that  could  not  be  mistaken." 

In  obedience  to  the  command  his  confronter  stoppe<l  at  once, 
and  straightening  up  made  no  attempt  to  draw  a  firearm. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want?"  M-ked  Paul. 

"  My  identity  I  choose  to  keep  to  myself,"  was  the  quick  re- 
sponse.   "  I  want  the  message  you  are  carrying  to  Washington. 

Paul  started. 

His  resolve  flashed  across  his  brain. 

What !  give  up  the  important  message  he  had  been  commissioned 
to  bear  to  Colonel  Baker,  of  the  United  States  secsret  service? 
Never! 

True  to  his  resolution,  he  would  die  first. 

"You  are  not  very  modest  in  your  demands,  it  seems  to  me," 
said  Paul,  leaning  forward  slightly,  for  he  was  eager  to  get  a  good 
look  at  the  face  before  him.  "  You  talk  as  though  I  am  on  my 
way  to  Washington  with  a  message,  the  delivery  of  which  would 
injure  you,  or  a  cause  you  serve." 

"  You  put  it  pat,  Paul  Phillips,"  was  the  answer,  accompanied 
by  a  light  laugh.  " The  message  you  have  is  written  in  cypher; 
but  no  matter,  I  want  it  just  the  same." 

"  You  will  have  to  get  it  if  it  exists  by  means  I  cannot  call  gen- 
tle." 

Paul's  eyes  flashed  defiance. 

Ilia  words  were  a  challenge  that  could  not  be  misunderstood. 

"  i'lie:e  may  be  .such  a  Wiing  as  your  being  mistaken,"  he  went 
I'll,  seeing  that  his  tracker  did  not  reply  immediately.  "You  ad- 
(1  less  lue  as  Paul  Phillips,  as  if  you  were  certain  that  I  am  the 
owijt-r  of  that  name." 

"Come,  come!  I  know  a  few  things  of  which  I  am  certain," 
laughed  Paul's  confronter,  not  at  all  dismayed  by  the  menacing 
revolver  at  whose  trigger  the  finger  of  the  messenger  rested. 
"You  are  Paul  Phillips,  and  the  message  you  carry  to  the  North- 
ern capital  is  intended  for  Colonel  Baker,  the  chief  of  Lincoln's 
detectives.     We  want  it," 

"We?"  echoed  Paul,  appearing  to  start.  "A  moment  ago  it 
was  I." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Paul " 

"I  will  not!  Stand  where  you  are.  Since  you  know  me  I  have 
a  right  to  send  a  bullet  crashing  through  your  brain." 

"Ha!  a  confession  that  you  are  Paul  Phillips!"  exclaimed  the 
trailer.  "  If  you  attempt  to  leave  Richmond  to-night  you  will  be 
captured,  if  not  killed,  and  the  message  you  bear  will  secure  the 
detection  and  death  of  a  dear  friend  of  yours.  Ha!  do  not  start 
and  wonder  how  I  know  so  much.  Did  not  your  friend  confess  to 
you  to-night  that  he  had  played  the  role  of  Maxon,  the  Tennessee- 
:in,  a  little  too  well?" 

The  loyal  messenger  seemed  to  recoil. 

( !antwell  had  made  such  a  confession  to  him,  and  here  was  a  per- 
son, undoubtedly  a  Confederate,  who  knew  that  he  (Cantwell)  was 
a  Northern  spy  at  the  rebel  capital. 

The  thought  almost  made  Paul's  finger  press  the  trigger. 

"  You  see  I  know  a  few  things,"  the  tracker  went  on,  breaking 
m  upon  Paul's  thoughts.  "Give  me  the  message,  and  proceed 
to  Washington.    Refuse,  and  die.    Take  your  choice." 

These  words  admitted  of  no  double  meaning,  but  Paul  Phillips 
(lid  not  hesitate. 

"  1  refuse  to  obey!"  he  said,  firmly.    "If  you   want  the  i 
you  say  exists  you  will  have  to  obtain  It  the  best  way  you  oan.' 

He  made  an  effort  to  move  on  as  he  finished. 

"  Very  well,  Paul  Phillips,  you're  a  fool— a  Yankee  fool!"  i 
the  trailer,  derisively.    "  I  don't  want  your  life,  but  you  will  s 
encounter  those  who  will   not  hesitate  to  take  It.    Tbat  i 
will  never  lie  on  Baker's  table.    Now  go  and  see." 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


"  Forewarned  is  forearmed;  thanks,"  said  Paul,  moving  off  with 
hia  face  Btill  turned  toward  his  oonfronter.  "  If  you  will  give  me 
your  name  and  address,  I  will  send  lyou  a  message  when  I  get  to 
Washington." 

He  knew  well  the  road  he  was  traveling,  for  he  had  traversed  it 
before,  going  to  and  from  Grant's  army,  and  had  braved  its 
Hangers  on  many  occasions. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  his  eyes  were  on  the  alert,  and  that  the 
revolver  he  had  drawn  on  his  late  tracker  he  kept  cocked  in  his 
right  hand  in  order  that  it  might  be  ready  for  use  at  a  second's 
notice. 

He  believed  that  his  trailer,  who  appeared  to  be  not  only  young 
but  very  handsome,  with  an  effeminate  oast  of  countenance,  had 
gone  back  with  his  report  to  the  person  whom  he  undoubtedly 
served. 

This  was  true. 

While  Paul  was  facing  the  dangers  that  lay  between  him  aud  the 
Confederate  picket  lines  that  compassed  Richmond,  his  trailer  was 
making  his  way  back  to  the  heart  of  the  city  proper. 

"I  wonder  what  he  will  say  when  I  report  ?"  the  young  person 
aaid,  in  audible  tones,  which  were  not  intended  for  any  other  ears 
than  his  own.  "  Will  it  not  hasten  his  departure  from  Richmond, 
and  will  he  not  frown  at  me  when  I  tell  him  that  Paul  Phillips  is 
actually  on  his  way  to  Washington  with  a  message  from  Silas  Cant- 
well  to  Baker,  his  chief?  I  am  not  obliged  to  tell  him  all.  I  will 
report  only  what  I  see  proper  to  let  out  and  nothing  more.  He  must 
not  leave  Riclimoud  now  unless  he  gives  me  permistion  to  accom- 
pany him." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  speaker  entered  a  plain  frame  dwelling  in 
the  best  built  portion  of  the  Confederate  city,  and  walked  into  the 
presence  of  a  man  writing  at  a  table  whose  lamp  threw  a  ruddy 
light  over  his  handsome  face. 

Handsome,  we  say. 

It  was  a  face  of  the  Doric  type,  faultless  In  every  respect,  and 
calculated  to  win  at  once  and  retain  the  admiration  of  every  be- 
holder. 

The  windows  of  this  beautiful  human  castle  were  two  dark 
eyes  that  were  piercing,  yet  at  the  same  time  not  harsh  in  stare 
nor  glance. 

They  meant,  as  has  been  said  of  them,  "  to  woman,  snare,  and  to 
man,  a  search  warrant." 

A  lofty  forehead  aud  8<|uare  brows  were  adorned  with  curling 
hair,  dark  as  the  raven's  feathers,  and  a  mustache  of  the  same 
oolor  hid  n  part  ot  his  well-shaped  mouth. 

This  man  was  well  dressed  in  a  suit  of  dark  clothes  that  fitted  to 
a  nicety  his  well-developed  and  shapely  figure,  aa  it  was  revealed 
in  the  chair. 

He  looked  up,  aud  his  eyes  shone  pleasantly  as  the  door  opened, 
admitting  to  his  presence  the  young  person  who  had  tracked  Paul 
to  the  suburbs  of  Richmond ;  aud  laying  his  pen  aside  he  addressed 
his  visitor  in  that  voice  which  always  won  those  who  heard  it. 

"  You  aro  welcome  here,  Stella,"  hesaid.  "  I  have  written  some- 
thing here  which  I  will  read  to  you.  But  why  those  garments?" 
and  the  speaker  looked  sharply  at  the  clothes,  a  close-fitting  suit  of 
gray,  worn  by  the  persou  before  him. 

A  slight  flush  reddened  the  youth's  temples. 

"  I  have  been  working  a  little,  that  is  all,"  was  the  reply.  "I 
will  tell  you  by  and  by." 

The  man  at  the  table  laughed  musically,  as  he  answered  : 

"You'd  make  a  good  Confederate  soldier,  Stella.  But  listen  to 
what  I  have  written,"  and  he  picked  up  a  sheet  ot  paper  on  which 
the  ink  was  hardly  dry.  "  I  will  not  read  continuously,"  he  went 
on ;  "  but  only  here  and  there  where  I  think  I  may  have  said  some 
forcible  things." 

His  visitor,  undoubtedly  a  beautiful  young  girl,  as  the  lamp  re- 
vealed, composed  herself  to  listen  with  her  eyes  fastened  on  his 
face. 

"  I  have  called  my  paper  'To  whom  it  may  concern,'  "  he  said. 
"Now  listen  to  this  my  dear  Stella: 

"  I  know  liow  foolish  I  shall  be  deemed  for  undertaking  such  a 
step  as  this,  where,  on  the  one  side  I  have  many  friends  and  every- 
thing to  make  me  happy.  On  the  other  hand  the  South  has  never 
bestowed  upon  me  one  kind  word.  To  give  up  all  of  the  former 
for  the  latter,  besides  my  mother  and  sisters  whom  I  so  dearly  (  a  I  - 
though  they  so  widely  differ  from  me  in  opinion),  seems  insane  ; 
but  God  is  my  judge.  For  be  my  motive  good  or  bad,  I  am  sure  oi 
one  thing,  the  lasting  condemnation  of  the  North." 

The  girl  .started  at  the  manner  in  which  the  last  sentence  was 
read,  but  tno  reader  did  not  notice  her,  and  went  on  : 

"  I  love  peace  more  than  life.  To  wait  longer  would  be  a  crime. 
All  hope  for  peace  is  dead.  My  prayers  have  proved  as  idle  as  my 
hopes.  I  go  to  see  and  share  the  bitter  end.  They  say  that  the 
South  has  found  that  "  last  ditch,"  which  the  North  has  so  long 
divided.  .Slu.uld  I  reach  her  in  safety  after  my  work  and  find  it 
true,  I  will  pmudly  beg  permission  to  triumph  or  die  in  that  same 
ditch  by  her  side.''* 

*TheBe  wurds  In  Booth's  handwriting  were  found  In  his  manifesto  after  bis 
trajric  end.   Ther  show  the  Bssassln's  terrible  aelltieratloD  montbfl  before hli 


The  reader  ceased  and  looked  over  the  paper,  which  he  slightly 
lowered,  at  his  only  auditor. 

His  black  eyes  glowed  with  the  proud  triumph  which  always 
heightened  his  manly  beauty. 

Stella  did  not  reply  until  the  man  exclaimed  : 

"  Have  you  no  comment,  no  admiration  for  my  composition, 
Stella?" 

The  girl  left  her  chair  and  came  to  his  side. 

"You  have  thought  out  every  sent«uce,"  she  said,  looking  down 
into  the  face  upturned  to  her.  "  But  it  is  not  too  late  to  burn  the 
paper,  and  give  up  the  scheme." 

That  instant  Booth's  whole  look  changed. 

His  brow  grew  dark  as  a  thundercloud ;  lightnings  seemed  lr> 
dart  from  his  eyes. 

"Stella,  you  talk  to  John  Wilkes  Booth,  not  to  a  boy!"  he  said, 
madly.  "  Is  this  your  criticism  ?  Do  you  advise  me  to  bum  this 
paper  and  give  up  my  plans— you  who  have  declared  that  you 
would  die  for  the  South  ?" 

"I  do,  Wilkes,"  cried  the  girl,  and  her  hand  fell  upon  the  plnt- 
ter's  shoulder.  "I  am  ready  to  die  for  the  South;  but  I  am  not 
ready  to  see  you  die." 

Wilkes  Booth  laughed, 

"The  e-xecration  of  the  North  will  kill  no  one."  hesaid.  "J 
have  gone  too  far  to  recede  now.  I  have  pledged  myself  to  the 
South  to  avenge  her  wrongs.  I  have  recorded  an  oath  where  the 
record  will  stand  against  me  forever.  You  can't  turn  me  back.  I 
swore  over  the  grave  of  the  South's  blasted  hopes.  What  is  the 
matter,  girl?" 

Booth's  question  was  (tailed  forth  by  seeing  the  girl  reeling  away 
without  a  drop  of  blood  iu  her  face. 

Springing  up  he  caught  her  before  she  could  touch  the  floor. 

"Speak,  Stella;  speak  !"  he  cried. 

The  girl's  lips  parted. 

"The  window,  Wilkes,  the " 

Booth  turned  like  a  tiger  brought  to  bay,  and  holding  the  girl  in 
his  arm,  glared  at  the  window. 

What  did  he  see? 

Pressed  against  the  pane  was  a  man's  face,  and  as  Booth  lowered 
Stella  to  the  floor,  a  name  fell  from  his  lips. 

"  Silas  Cantwell!" 

CHAPTER  IV. 

CAUGHT   IS     A     LIE. 

Thirty  minutes  after  the  occurrence  just  narrated.  Colonel  Love- 
lace Opal,  a  prominent  citizen  of  Richmond,  who  was  colonel  by 
courtesy  only,  received  a  visitor,  who  was  no  less  a  person  than 
Wilkes  Booth,  the  actor— not  yet  Booth,  the  assassin. 

The  hour  was  late,  verging  on  toward  midnight,  and  Colonel 
Opal  who,  although  he  kept  late  hours,  was  about  to  retire,  open- 
ed his  eyes  iu  astonishment  when  he  saw  his  caller. 

There  were  traces  of  some  late  excitement  in  Booth's  manner, 
and    he   attempted    to   recover   his  wonted    calmness  before  he 

His  first  words  startled  the  Confederate  citizen. 

'■  I  have  come  to  say  good-by,  colonel.  I  am  going  to  leave 
Richmond." 

"Going  away,  Wilkes?  Not  before  morning,  I  hope— not  be- 
tween two  days." 

"Between  two  days,  as  you  call  it.  Don't  you  know— no,  you 
don't,  for  I  have  not  told  you  what  I  am  going  to  do.  An  incident 
has  happened  to-night  that  hastens  my  departure." 

"  When  will  you  return  ?" 

"  When  the  South  has  been  avenged !  "  said  Booth,  with  spirit. 

Booth  slightly  lowered  his  tone, 

"  Do  you  know  Silas  Cantwell  ?"  he  asked. 

"  The  man  on  Market  street  ?    Yes,  I  know  him." 

"  Well,  I  want  him  out  of  the  South's  way  before  I  come  back." 

Colonel  Opal's  look  instantly  became  a  stare. 

"  Out  of  the  South's  way  ?"  he  echoed. 

"Is  he " 

"  Yes,  he's  in  it,"  interrupted  Booth.  "Stella  has  discovered  a 
great  secret  to-night.  Silas  Cantwell  is  a  member  of  Lafayette 
Baker's  secret  service.  He  has  been  si.x  month's  in  Richmond,  all 
the  time  working  for  his  chief,  with  whom  he  has  corresponded 
regularly." 

"Great  Cassar's  ghost  1"  ejaculated  the  colonel  by  courtesy. 
"  Hang  me  I  it  I  haven't  entertained  the  fellow  several  times.  He 
plays  his  part  devilish  well,  if  he  is  a  Yankee  spy.  Hang  him? 
Of  course  I  will !  It's  all  the  way  I  have  of  getting  even  with  him 
for  pumping  me." 

"  I  saw  his  face  to-night.  He  was  at  work  when  I  saw  it."  said 
Booth.  "  I  at  onoe  recognized  in  him  an  old  friend  whom  I  used 
to  call  Leon  Lennox,  which  I  believe  to  be  his  right  name.  I  will 
not  stand  between  bim  and  the  gallows." 

"It  wouldn't  do  him  any  gooa  It  you  did,  Wilkes!  "  cried  the 


THE  WA.R  LIBRARY. 


coloner:  reaolutely.  "If  you  are  determiued  to  leave  Riihiimiiu 
you  cau  set  out  with  the  assurance  that  Silas  Cantwell,  the  Yan- 
kee agent,  will  be  attended  to  with  neatness  and  dispatch.  He'll 
never  get  to  make  his  report,  or  my  name's  not  Lovelace  Opal !" 

"Don't spoil  matters  by  being  too  fast,"  advised  the  plotter. 
"  Unless  Silas  Cant  well,  as  I  chose  to  call  him,  is  put  out  of  the 
way  at  once,  the  South  may  never  be  avenged.  I  leave  all  with 
you,  colonel.  You  know  your  duty,  and  future  generations  will 
curse  you  if  you  do  it  not." 

"I  shall    not  fail,"  was  the  reassuring  reply.     "I  don't  know 
what  you  are  going  to  do,  Wilkes ;  but  whatever  it  is,  do  it  well." 
Booth's  eyes  glistened. 

"Well  done  it  shall  be!"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  "I  pc 
back  to  those  who  will  help  me  carry  out  my  scheme.  The  great  ■ 
est  scheme  afoot  will  thrive  henceforward  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Northern  capital.  Listen  for  news  from  the  North,  colonel.  The 
ides  of  March  aie  going  to  be  fatal  to  the  modern  Cajsar.  Don't 
forget  my  last  injunction,  colonel.  Attend  to  Silas  Cantwell.  He's 
a  poisonous  weed  that  has  thrived  too  long  on  Southern  soil." 

The  Confederate  citizen  wrung  Booth's  hand  cordially,  and  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  door  after  he  had  dropped  it. 

"  I  think  if  you  suddenly  call  the  spy  Leon  Lennox,  he  will  start 
end  betray  himself,"  he  said. 

"Watch  him  carefully  when  you  speak   the  name,  colonel.    His 
messenger  will   never  deliver   the  cypher  he  started   off  with  to- 
night I" 
"  Did  he  send  a  messenger  froni  Richmond  ?" 

'' Yes,  but  don't  let  that  fellow  trouble  jou.  You  are  to  look 
after  Silas  Cantwell.    The  message  will  never  reach  Baker." 

Booth  crossed  the  threshold  as  the  last  word  fell  from  his  lips, 
and  having  again  bade  him  good-by.  Colonel  Opal  turned  back 
into  his  house. 

"  Hang  me,  if  1  wouldn't  like  to  know  just  what  kind  of  a  plot 
Ihat  fellow  is  hatching,"  he  said,  to  himself.  "He  doesn't  par* 
^ith  all  his  secrets,  as  I  discover,  although  he  leads  one  up  to  them 
sometimes.  The  South  has  suffered  and  is  to  be  avenged ;  that's 
the  burden  of  his  song.  I  never  thought  that  Wilkes  Booth  would 
undertake  a  scheme  as  dark  as  the  one  he  talks  about  seems  to  be. 
If  he  would  listen  to  that  girl,  who  would  die  for  him,  he  could 
make  himself  the  happiest  man  in  all  creation  ;  but  he  wants 
lame — fame!  By. love!  he  may  get  the  rope  and  infamy,  if  he 
doesn't  mend  his  ways.  Let  me  see  :  what  am  I  to  do?  Oh,  yes, 
I'm  expected  to  have  Silas  Cantwell  hanged  before  he  gets  back. 
Silas  Cantwell  a  Yankee  agent?  Well,  I  don't  know.  It  takes  a 
good  deal  of  grit  for  a  Northern  agent  to  live  six  months  in  Rich- 
mond; but  Silas  Cant  well's  expressionless  face  and  cold  eyes  were 
not  made  to  be  owned  by  a  coward.  Wilkes  has  pitted  me  against 
that  man.  eh  ?  What  are  VQU  going  to  do  with  the  job,  colonel  ?" 
Before  <  o/onel  Opul  answered  the  self  put  question,  he  consulted 
H  well  stocked  sideboard,  from  whose  contents  he  selected  some 
liquor,  that  added  a  new  sparkle  to  hib  eyes. 

"  I  am  going  to  obey,  Wilkes,"  he  said,  replacing  the  decanter  on 
its  accustomed  shelf.  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  Silas  Cant- 
well shall  never  present  his  report  to  his  chief." 

This  resolve  was  easily  made,  although  the  maker  might  ex- 
perience difficulty  in  carrying  it  out. 

Colonel  Opal  had  never  married,  although  his  large  wealth,  and 
\iot  his  face,  which  was  not  very  handsome,  had  attracted  many 
marriageable  ladies. 

His  house  was  one  of  the  finest  dwellings  in  the  rebel  capital,  and 
was  always  open  to  those  who  loved  the  cause  almost  lost. 

Colonel  Opal  knew  where  the  war  detective  dwelt,  for  on  one  oc- 
casion a  few  days  prior  to  the  opening  of  our  story,  he  had  visited 
Cantwell  at  home,  and  enjoyed  a  chat  with  the  spy  whom  he  did 
not  then  suspect. 

"Grass  mustn't  grow  under  one's  feet  these  times,"  he  said,  to. 
himself,  as  he  selected  a  revolver  from  among  a  dozen  weapons, 
shortly  after  Booth's  departure,  "By  Jove!  it's  past  midnight 
now;  but  what  of  that?  I  must  lirst  find  whether  Silas  is  at  home, 
and  then  I  will  strike  the  killing  blow.  What  excuse  can  I  have 
for  disturbing  him  at  this  hour '!  Ah,  yes ;  he  said  when  we  parted 
last,  that  if  I  received  auy  communication  from  Judge  Tazewell 
about  that  cotton,  I  should  inform  him  at  once.  That  will  do.  1 
can  fix  up  a  story  between  here  and  his  house." 

Ah!  if  Silas  Cantwell  but  knew  the  danger  that  menaced  him 
when  Colonel  Opal  left  his  own  home  to  spy  out  his  whereabouts 
at  that  time ! 

Would  he  no\  have  shaken  the  dust  of  Richmond  from  his  feet 
and  turned  his  face  at  once  toward  Washington? 
Pope  says  that ; 

"  Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  Fate." 
And  it  seemed  as  if  it  »  lus  i;ot  tn  be  opened  to  the  fearless  detec- 
tive until  Colonel  Opal's  lips  had  pronounced  his  doom. 

To  a  man  who  had  speut  thirty  years  in  Richmond  as  the  colonel 
bad  done,  the  dimly  lighted  streets  at  night  did  not  form  a  con- 


fusing labyrinth,  and  he  hurried  toward  that  part  of  the  city 
where  the  suspected  man  had  taken  up  his  residence. 

Booth,  the  colonel  thought,  had  already  started  for  Washington, 
and  he,  the  colonel,  would  do  his  duty  before  day. 

"  Therefore,  when  he  halted  in  front  of  the  war  detective's  quar- 
ters, he  was  quite  calm,  had  a  story  made  up  about  the  cotton  in 
which  Cantwell  seemed  deeply  interested,  and  was  eager  to  bring 
matters  to  a  crisis. 

"  Here  goes  for  it,"  he  said,  in  the  Toice  of  a  man  who  has  great 
confidence  in  his  abilities  as  be  seized  the  bell  knob  and  jerked  it 
sharply. 

"  Is  that  you,  (»lonel  ?"  suddenly  asked  a  voice  in  his  rear,  and 
Lovelace  Opal,  wheeling  at  the  question,  found  Cantwell  standing 
on  the  sidewalk  before  him,  as  large  as  life. 

"Walk  in  and  we  will  talk,"  he  said,  unlocking  the  door  and 
ushering  the  Confederate  citizen  into  the  hall.  "  A  letter  from  the 
judge,  eh  ?    That's  encouraging." 

Colonel  Opal  entered  a  room  with  the  spy,  where  a  lamp  was 
burning  on  a  table. 

"These  cotton  transactions  and  other  matters  keep  one  out  late," 
continued  Cantwell,  looking  straight  into  Opal's  eyes.     "  When  did 
your  letter  arrive,  colonel?" 
"  To-uight.    It  came  through  by  the  underground  mail." 
"  When  was  it  dated  ?" 
"On  the  third." 

"  This  is  the  ninth.    Are  you  sure  of  the  date,  colonel?" 
"  I  am." 

"  It  was  in  the  judge's  handwriting?" 
"Yes." 

"  Have  you  the  letter  with  you  ? " 

"No.  I  thought  I  had  until  I  reached  your  doorstep,  when  I 
discovered  I  had  left  it  at  home.  I  can  state  the  substance,  how- 
ever  " 

"Oh,  that's  not  necessary,"  interrupted  Cantwell,  with    a  wave 
of  the  hand.    "  Your  letter  puzzles  me,  colonel." 
"Puzzles  you?    How  so  ?" 

"  Because  it  was  written  on  the  third,  and  Judge  Tazewell  died 
on  the  twenty-ninth  preceding  it!" 

•  A  bombshell  seemttl  to  have  dropped  at  Colonel  Opal's  feet. 
There  was  a  derisive  smile  at  the  corners  of  the   war  detective's 
mouth,  and  triumph  and  defiance  in  his  eye. 

"  Y'es,  my  dear   colonel,  the  judge  departed  this    life   on  the 
twenty-ninth,  s"  you  must  have  received  a  letter  from  his  spirit ! " 
said  Cantwell. 
It  was  a  polite  way  of  telling  Colonel  Opal  that  he  had  lied. 
For  a  moment  longer  the  cornered  colonel  sat  in   his  chair,  then 
he  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"I'll  give  you  a  passport  to  his  spirt,  then,  Leon  Lennox  I"  he 
exclaimed,  and  before  the  detective  could  lift  a  hand  or  leave  bia 
chair,  the  giant  colonel  fell  upon  him  with  the  force  and  ferocity 
of  a  lion. 

It  was  a  terrible  collision,  and  the  two  men  went  thunderously 
to  the  floor  together ! 


CHAPTER  V. 


COWING  AN   KNBMT. 

The  war  detective  found  himself  in  the  oluches  of  a  man  who 
was  more  than  his  equal  in  strength. 

"Don't  you  see  that  I  know  you?"  grated  Colonel  Opal.  "I 
don't  call  you  Silas  Cantwell,  but  Leon  Lennox.  You've  been  hav- 
ing a  fine  time  in  Richmond  during  the  past  six  months,  confound 
you?  I've  suspected  you  all  along  (which  was  not  true) ;  but  I 
bided  my  time  until  I  had  gathered  testimony  enough  to  hang  i 
you.  My  time  has  come  at  last.  The  Yankee  detective  chief  is 
about  to  lose  one  of  his  ablest  assistants,  for  I  proclaim,  here,  Mr.  J 
Lennox,  that  you're  going  to  die,  sir,  before  the  South  sees  that  last 
ditch  the  North  prates  so  much  about;  yes,  sir,  your  days  are 
numbered,  sir!" 

This  intelligence  did  not  have  a  pleasant  sound  for  the  loyal  de- 
tective's ears. 

He  had  ceased  to  struggle,  for  the  ponderous  frame  of  the  colo- 
nel by  courtesy  was  upon  him,  and  one  of  the  Confederate's  hands 
was  at  his  throat,  and  almost  choking  him  into  unconsciousness. 

"  Do  you  surrender  ?"  resumed  Colonel  Opal.  "Tou  see  that  I 
hold  the  best  hand,  Lennox.  If  you  give  up  I'll  take  my  tiger 
claws  from  your  throat.    There!  you  can  talk  now  !" 

At  that  moment  Colonel  Opal's  grip  relaxed  enough  to  let  Cant- 
well find  his  tongue  again,  if  he  wished  to  use  that  important 
member ;  but  for  a  minute  the  detective  did  not  speak. 

"  Your  action  convinces  me  that  you  have  no  letter  from  Judge 
Tazewell  about  the  cotton,"  he  said,  calmly,  looking  Opal  square- 
ly in  the  face. 

"  I  would  say  so  myself.  I  knew  all  the  time  thatjthe  judge  wa» 
dead. 

"  But  thought  I  did  not  know  it,  eh  1" 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


"  Perhaps." 

"  You  took  the  risk  and    lost,    colonel,"    the   detective   smiled, 
faintly.    "  You  see  I  get  letters  by  the  secret  mail  as  well  as  other 
people.    But  let  us  come  to  other  matters.    I  am  your  prisoner,  if 
I  look  at  this  affair  in  the  same  light  you  do." 
"  I  consider  you  so." 

"  Well,  what  lire  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?" 
Colonel  Opal  made  no  immediate  reply. 

It  then  began  to  dawn  upon  him  that  he  probably  had  an  ele- 
phant on  his  hands. 

He  had  captured  Cantwell  In  the  later's  own  quarters,  and  there 
was  no  one  near  to  help  take  the  prisoner  to  confinement. 

He  thought  he  detected  in  the  prisoner's  question  a  tone  of  de- 
fiance which  irritated  him. 

"  You  have  arrested  me  for  being  what  you  have  pleased  to  term 
an  agent  of  the  North,"  continued  Cantwell.  "That  is  a  bold 
charge,  colonel.  I  would  like  to  see  your  proofs.  Of  course  you 
have  not  arrested  me  without  something  tangible  to  substantiate 
the  charges  you  have  preferred  against  me." 

"Proof?"  echoed  the  Confederate,  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way. 
"Proof?  We'll  bring  forward  enough  of  it  at  the  right  time.  I 
say  again  that  you  are  Leon  Lennox,  not  Silas  Cantwell.  By  Jove  I 
you  may  be  Maxou,  the  Tennesseean,  for  aught  I  know." 

Colonel  Opal  expected  to  see  the  detective  start  at  mention  of 
the  last  name,  but  he  did  not. 

"I  must  be  a  man  of  many  names  if  I  am  to  believe  my  accus- 
ers," he  merely  said,  a  bit  of  merriment  in  his  voice.  "  But  a  truce 
to  all  this !  Since  I  am  to  consider  myself  under  arrest,  I  desire  at 
once  to  be  confronted  by  the  proof  of  which  you  have  spoken.  1 
demand  to  be  conveyed  at  once  into  the  presence  of  Jefferson 
Davis." 
Colonel  Opal  started. 

"  Mr.  Davis  and  I  are  friends,"  continued   Cantwell.    "I  am  at 
jjresent  in  his  private  employ,  as  I  would  speedily  convince  you  in 
an  interview.    'Die  liour  is    late,   1   know,  and   the  president  has 
doubtless  retired  ;  liut  as  your   action  is  interfering   with  certain 
work  I  am  now  doing  for  him,  1  demand  to  be  taken  to  his  man- 
sion iit  once." 
The  Confederate  citizen  seemed  staggered  at  these  words. 
He  began  to  think  thnt  after  all  Booth  might  have  been  hasty  in 
accusiug  Cantwell  of  being  Leon  Leuno.\,  and  a  spy  of  the  North. 
If  he  was  guilty,  why  would  he  demand  to  be  taken  to  President 
Davis,  the  highest  authority  in  the  Confederate  capital,  and  a  man 
who  at  that  time  was  very  an.xious  to  rid  Richmond  of  everything 
not  rebel? 

"Read  that,  sirl"  said  Cantwell,  proudly,  breakii.g  in  upon  liis 
captor's  speculations  by  flinging  a  letter  upon  the  table.  "  As  :i 
true  Confederate,  as  I  know  you  to  be,  you  will  not  believe  1h:r 
i,i .  Dii\  is  hnunell  would  lie  likely  to  entrust  a  mission  of  great 
importance  to  the  cause  to  a  Northern  spy.  That  letter,  sir,  is  a 
part  of  my  defence." 

Cantwell  eyed  Opal  closely,  as  the  latter  unfolded  and  read  the 
letter,  which  we  laid  before  the  reader  in  our  first  chapter. 

He  was  well  acquainted  with  the  rebel  president's  chirography, 
and  saw  at  once  that  the  document  he  held  in  his  hand  was  gen- 
uine. 

When  he  looked  up,  Cantwell's  keen  eyes  saw  that  the  mau  was 
doubting. 

"  Come,  colonel,  confess  that  you  have  acted  hastily,  or  <  onduct 
me  to  Mr.  Davis,  so  that  by  a  word  he  can  sot  all  your  doubts  at 

rest.    I'll  get  my  hat  and " 

Cantwell  had  left  his  chair  in  which  he  had  seated  himself  after 
rising  from  the  floor,  and  was  moving  across  the  room  when  Col- 
onel Opal  with  voice  and  spring  broke  his  sentence. 

"  One  minute,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  ou  the  detective's  shoul- 
der, which  made  him  turn,  bringing  the  two  men  face  to  face 
again.  "  I  cannot  think  of  disturbing  the  president  at  this  hour." 
"Not  when  justice  demands  a  hearing?"  cried  Cantwell,  his  eyes 
flashing  madly.  "  Not  when  a  citizen  of  Richmond  is  accused  of 
being  :•-  Yankee  spy  ?  Sir,  I  go  to  the  president  whether  you  will 
it  or  not." 

His  demeanor,  so  muou  like  that  of   a  man  falsely  accused,  made 
Colonel  Opal  recoil  a  pace. 
"  Will  not  1 5-morrow  do?"  he  asked. 

"  To-morrow  !  Were  you  in  my  place.  Colonel  Opal,  would  you 
rest  a  minute  under  this  terrible  accusation  7  Think  of  this.  You 
owe  me  a  chance  to  clear  myself  if  I  can.  Conduct  me  at  once  to 
Mr.  Davis,  or  acknowledge  that  you  have  taken  a  hasty  and  ill- 
advised  step  to-night.  Out  of  respect  to  you  I  will  call  it  nothing 
more." 

"  I  will  admit,  Mr.  Cantwell  "—it  was  not  "  Leon  Lennox  "  this 
time — "that  we  sometimes  go  n  little  fast  when  reflection  would 
advise  a  mono  judicious  gait,"  said  the  colonel,  coloring.  "My 
hesitancy  in  disturbing  the  president  at  this  late  hour  forces  me  to 
acknowledge  that  I  may  have  acted  without  sufficient  discretion. 
To-morrow,  if  you  will,  I  will  be  ready  to  secure  you  the  interview 


"That's  not  it!"  ejaculated  Cantwell,  almost  before  the  last  word 
had  left  the  Confederate's   tongue.    "To-morrow  is  not   now.    I 
will  not  rest  under  the  imputation  you  have  cast  upon  me.    Ac- 
knowledgment, or  an  interview.    Take  your  choice,  colonel." 
Colonel  Opal  bit  his  lip  under  his  drooping  mustache. 

"My  informant  may  have  been  mistaken " 

"Where  is  he?    Confront  me  with  him,  if  you  dare!" 

"  That  cannot  be  done  to-night." 

"  His  name,  then?" 

The  Confederate  hesitated. 

What!  reveal  the  name  of  Wilkes  Booth  to  Cantwell  ? 

No ;  he  could  not  do  that;  and  Booth,  he  knew,  had  announced 
his  intention  of  leaving  Richmond  that  night. 

At  that  very  moment  he  might  be  beyond  the  suburbs  of  the 
rebel  capital. 

Cantwell  saw  the  colonel's  hesitancy,  and  with  a  sneer  that  cut 
the  haughty  Southerner  to  the  quick,  turned  ou  his  heeL 

"No  more!"  he  e.xclaimed.  "This  whole  thing  is  a  dastardly, 
put-up  job  in  which  I  never  thought  a  gentleman  of  Colonel  Opal's 
standing  would  take  a  hand.  I  am  accused,  proof  is  talked  about, 
and  yet  I  cannot  be  confronted  with  the  accuser.  Colonel  Opal, 
this  interview  is  at  an  end.  By  Heaven,  sir,  were  it  not  for  the  re- 
spect I  entertain  toward  you  as  one  of  Mr.  Davis'  friends,  I'd  call 
you  to  account  for  your  treatment  of  Silas  Cantwell  in  his  own 
house  to-night." 

"  I  beg  of  you  to  let  the  matter  rest  here,"  interrupted  Colonel 
Opal.    "  I  assure  you,  sir,  that  it  shall  go  no  further." 

"You  do,  perhaps,  but  the  man  who  conceived  the  whole  plot?" 

"  I  will  speak  for  him.    He  shall  stop  where  he  is." 

"Very  well,"  said  Cantwell,  after  a  minute  of  apparently  sage 
reflection.    "  Against  my  will,  I  let  the  matter  drop." 

"  And  are  we  friends  ?" 

Colonel  Opal  held  out  his  hantl. 

"That  depends  on  yourself,"  was  the  reply. 

The  two  men  touched  hands,  and  the  Confederate  picked  up  his 
hat. 

Three  minutes  later  the  war  <ietective  was  the  only  occupant  (>< 
the  room  in  which  the  scenes  we  have  described  had  taken  place. 

"Thmgs  are  getting  too  hot  forme  in  Richmond,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "My  boldness  aloue  saved  my  neck  to-night.  Wiih 
oilier  men  I  might  not  have  succeeded  so  well;  but  the  coloiitl  is 
vulnerable.  Ha!  don't  I  know  who  put  him  on  my  trail?  He 
lied  when  he  said  he  had  suspected  me  all  along.  He  never 
dreamed  that  I  was  one  of  Baker's  men  until  Wilkes  Booth  whis- 
pered it  iu  his  ear  since  sundown.  The  fellow  recognized  me 
lit  the  window  of  his  quarters  to-night.  He  called  ine  Silas  Cant- 
well, but  I  saw  by  his  look  that  he  knows  I  am  Leon  Lennox,  and 
the  secret  agent  of  the  Union.  So  you  have  written  Abraham 
Lincoln's  obituary,  Wilkes  Booth?  Ha!  I  will  have  you  know 
I  hat  while  I  am  able  to  thwart  your  infernal  conspiracy,  the  dag- 
fii-r  will  not  do  its  work.  What!  Lincoln  to  be  assassinated  ou  the 
threshold  of  peace?    No!  that  shall  never  be." 

As  Cantwell  finished,  he  donned  his  hat  and  changing  his  gar- 
ments for  others  that  quite  altered  his  appearance,  he  left  the 
house,  locking  the  door  behind  him. 

He  went  straight  to  a  dwelling  at  one  of  the  windows  of  which 
he  had  already  startled  Wilkes  Booth  that  night. 

A  weird  stillness  brooded  over  the  scene,  and  the  house  itself  was 
shrouded  iu  gloom. 

The  war  detective  seemed  the  only  person  near,  and  his  figure 
was  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  darkness  while  he  stood  on 
the  steps  as  if  he  shrank  from  entering. 

"I  might  as  well  learn  something  before  it  is  too  late,"  he  sud- 
denly ejaculated,  and  thene.xt  moment  he  inserted  a  little  piece  of 
pliable  steel  into  the  lock. 

After  a  few  twists  he  opened  the  door  noiselessly,  and  crept  into 
the  place. 

Darkness,  which  could  ba   felt  almost,    reigue  1  iu  tli  j  oarridor 
which  he  had  invaded ;  but  he  found  a  door  to  his  right. 

A  moment  later  he  stood  in  the  room  where  he  had  last  seen 
Booth. 

Then  he  took  a  dark  lantern  from  beneath  his  coat  and  cautious- 
ly threw  its  light  around  the  room. 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  he  murmured.  "The  modern  Cassius  has 
suddenly  changed  his  quarters.  In  other  words,  I  have  found  the 
nest,  but  the  bird  has  deserted  it." 

There  were  numerous  evidences  of  sudden  flight. 

The  table  had  been  cleared  of  papers,  a  few  of  whloh  seemed  to 
have  been  destroyed,  for  there  were  numerous  scraps  among  the 
ancient  ashes  in  the  fire-place. 

"This  may  prove  a  mine,"  remarked  Cantwell,  bending  over  the 
confused  mass  and  beginning  to  transfer  it  to  one  of  his  pockets. 
"  I'll  work  on  them  before  I  leave  Richmond." 

He  did  not  pause  until  he  held  possession  of  the  last  scrap,  and 
when  he  turned  to  leave  there  was  a  look  of  triumph  iu  his  eyes. 

"  I  trust  Paul  will  have  no  trouble  in  getting  through,"  he  said, 
hi»  thiuiffhts  at  that  moment  beine  with   the  young  man  he  had 


8 


THE  WA.R  LIBBARY. 


sent  that  night  to  Washington.  "  Baker  will  receive  Wilkes  Bootb 
with  open  arms  when  he  gets  to  the  capital !" 

So  saying,  Cantwell  closed  the  slide  of  his  lantern  and  left  the 
chamber  lately  occupied  by  Booth. 

When  he  reac  aed  the  steps  before  the  house,  he  locked  the  door 
by  means  of  the  false  key  and  started  off. 

■'  Hall  there!" 

Thrilled  to  his  very  soul,  the  war  detec  ive  wheeled,  with  his 
hand  on  his  revolver,  to  confront  the  speaker. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you,"  said  a  voice,  as  a  figure  rose  out  of  the 
almost  rayless  gloom.  "  I  want  to  warn  you  now,  Leon  Lennox, 
that  unless  you  give  up  your  present  plans,  your  life  will  not  be 
wortli  a  farthing.    Be  warned  in  time.    That's  all!" 

The  speaker  wheeled  to  depart,  but  the  detective's  hand  clutched 
his  shoulder. 

"And  I  tell  you,  Wilkes  Booth,  that  unless  you  put  me  out  of 
your  road,  you'll  never  succeed  in  your  damnable  plots!"  he 
grated. 

The  reply  was  a  cold,  cutting,  aud  defiant  laugh,  and  the  loyal 
detective  saw  the  great  conspirator  vanish,  leaving  him  the  sole 
occupant  of  the  spot. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

AT     WORK     IN    WASHINGTON. 

The  mouth  of  February  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  all  Wash- 
ington was  preparing  for  Lincoln's  second  inauguration. 

The  rebellion  was  about  to  collapse,  and  men  were  already  talk- 
ing of  reconstruction. 

Gnint  was  pushing  Lee  to  the  last  wall,  and  Sherman  having 
thundere<l  across  Georgia,  was  about  to  give  Johnston's  legions  the 
ruuv  dc  ijracc. 

Peace  wiis  about  to  bless  the  land ! 

Abraham  Lincoln,  who  had  borne  the  heavy  sorrows  of  the  long 
conflict,  and  tasted  few  joys  during  all  that  time,  was  from  the 
windows  of  liis  magnanimous  soul  looking  toward  the  smoky  hori- 
zon, above  which  he  felt  would  soon  soar  the  angel  of  peace. 

No  man  had  deplored  the  war  more  than  he,  and  no  heart  in  all 
the  nation  had  bled  oftener,  or  been  wounded  deeper  than  the  one 
iu  his  bosom. 

One  night,  after  the  long,  coobngshadows  had  settled  down  over 
the  White  House,  a  veiled  womiiu  presented  herself  at  the  main 
entrance,  and  requested  an  intervieT  with  the  president. 

of  ileen  disappointment 

•No  more  to-night,  miss,"  answered  the  man,  slightly  emphasiz- 
ing the  last  word,  as  if  he  wished  tliecallei-  to  know  that,  despite 
her  veil,  he  had  discovered  her  social  title. 

•'  No  more  to-night!"  was  the  echo. 

"  But  I  must  see  him.  I  must  liave  an  interview  with  the  presi- 
dent." 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  you  must  postpone  it.  The  president's  in- 
auguration is  approaching,  and  he  finds  a  great  deal  to  engross  his 
attention.' 

The  veiled  woman  started. 

"His  second  inauguration,  yes,"  she  exclaimed.  "That  is  why  I 
want  to  see  him.  This  is  the  last  day  of  February.  I  will  waitout 
yonder  until  the  cabinet  meeting  ends." 

The  woman  nodded  toward  the  garden  as  she  finished,  but  the 
man  said  firmly ; 

"  It  will  be  a  long  wait,  I  am  afraid.  Mr.  Lincoln  oannot  be  seen 
to-night.  I  am  sorry,  and  I  must  tell  you  that  people  found  in  the 
grounds  at  night  are  apt  to  be  disturbed  by  the  capitol  police." 

The  veiled  visitor  stood  still  for  a  moment. 

"  I  am  willing  to  lie  subjected  to  arrest  if  I  could  only  see  the 
president,"  she  pleaded,  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Does  he  know  you,  miss?" 

"Alas!  no.  He  has  never  so  much  as  heard  of  me.  Must  I  go, 
then,  without  seeing  him  7  Must  I  depart  without  doing  him  the 
service  which  lies  so  near  my  heart  ?  Do  any  people  ever  come 
here  to  warn  the  president  that  his  life  is  in  danger  ?" 

"  A  great  many.  He  receives  many  letters  threatening  assassin- 
ation, and  warning  him  to  be  on  his  guard,"  said  the  man,  smil- 
ing. 

"  What  does  he  say  to  such  visitors?"  asked  the  visitor,   eagerly. 

"  He  listens  to  all  and  dismisses  them  with  a  promise  that  seems 
to  satisfy  them.  Some  of  the  communications  he  turns  over  to 
Colonel  Baker,  chief  of  the  secret  service;  but  for  the  most  part  he 
destroys  them  himself." 

The  woman  seemed  to  be  repulsed,  but  she  suddenly  rf  plied, 
with  increasing  warmth. 

" He  would  more  than  listen  to  me— I  know  ho  would!  Why 
can't  I  see  him  to-night  ?  Life  is  uncertain.  I  may  not  live  till 
to-morrow.  Say,"  laying  her  hand  on  the  official's  arm,  "relax 
your  iron  rules  Soc  me.    Let  me  see  the  presideut  after  the  consul- 


tation has  broken  up.    Tou  don't  know  what  I  know ;  7011  can- 
not!" 

"Indeed,  miss,  yon  try  me,  l)ut  I  cannot  give   assent,"   was  the 
reply.     "  Come  to-morrow  at  ten  d'elnck." 

visitor,  giving  tlie  iniui  !■  i..ir^  l.n.b.  th 


A  ill  come,"  said  the  strange 
iigli  liei  veil  ere  she  turued 


She  was  watched  by  llie  guardian  of  the  door  until  her  figure, 
wliich  indicated  both  youth  ami  beauty,  was  lost  among  the  shad- 
ows of  night.  Then,  with  miireely  a  thought  of  her,  he  turned  to 
other  duties. 

"Must  I  carry  this  bitter  secret  in  ray  breast  till  another  dawn?" 
ejaculated  the  baffled  visitor,  as  she  struck  Pennsylvania  avenue 
with  Its  varied  life,  which  extended  to  the  capitol  itself.  "lean 
save  two  lives  by  warning  Ihe  president  of  the  awful  danger  thaf 
threatens  him.  His  death  will  do  tlie  Soutli  no  good,  and  the  ex- 
piring cause  has  no  truer  adherent  than  me.  My  love  for  one  man 
makes  me  throw  myself  at  the  feet  of  the  person  lie  calls  his  en- 
emy—a  person  whose  life  he  wants;  and  when  does  he  intend  to 
take  it  ?  On  the  day  when  he  is  expected  to  stand  before  his  peo- 
ple, and  take  the  oath  of  office  for  four  years  more.  Oh,  Heaven  ! 
why  was  I  ever  intrusted  with  his  dark  secret  ?    Ah  !  yonder  he  is 

The  woman  halted  and  crept  close  to  the  tree  near  which  she 
now  stood,  but  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  a  handsome  young  man 
ivho  stood  in  tlielight  of  a  lampafewfeet  away,  with  his  eyes 
.urued  toward  the  pie.-ii(lent's  mansion. 

"It  is  he — Wilkes,"  she  continued,  watching  him  intently. 
•What  it  he  should  find  me  here;  but  he  will  not  do  that!  How 
handsome,  how  Kingly  he  is,  and  yet  he  would  commit  a  crime 
iliat  would  consign  liim  and  his  name  forever  to  the  lowest  depths 
of  infamy  !  Thimk  Heaven!  he  is  moving  off  without  having 
feen  me!  Oil,  Wilkes !  would  to  God  that  I  could  change  your 
thoughts,  that  I  could  stay  your  hand  and  keep  you  for  me  and 
the  world  that  honors  you  for  your  talents.  It  must  be  done! 
The  president  will  listen  to  me;  I  know  he  will.  He  will  do  more 
llian  listen— lie  will  act !  ' 

By  this  lime  the  iier^on  called  Wilkes  by  the  woman  in  the 
-tiadow  of  the  tree  had  moved  off,  and  was  already  lost  in  the 
1  lowd  of  people  that  swept  over  the  pavemeuts. 

"  I  will  go  home  and  wait  till  morning,"  she  continued.  "What 
would  hesay  if  he  knew  I  was  iu  Washington?  1  trust  he  will  not 
ili.-cover  me  until  I  have  saved  them  both." 

Did  The  woman  notice  n  man  who  at  that  moment  had  two  fero- 
cious eyis  upon  her?  Did  she  hear  the  cat-like  tread,  or  see  the 
j-loiiiliing  figure  that  moved  after  her  when  she  went  away  to- 
"  iinl  that  part  of  the  capital  where  rolled  the  waters  of  the  Poto- 

SLe  noticed  not  the  noiseless  tracker. 

Down  more  than  one  street,  some  of  them  dimly  lighted,  she 
led  the  human  bloodhound,  whose  evil  eyes  did  not  lose  sight  of 
lier  for  a  second. 

That  same  man,  lying  on  the  grass  before  the  White  House,  had 
listened  to  her  conversation  with  the  usher ;  not  a  word  had  es- 
caped his  keen  ears. 

Throw  the  light  of  day  upon  that  man,  reader,  and  you  would 
see  a  well  built  body,  broad  shoulders,  and  a  hand  that  seemed 
made  to  wield  a  dirk.  His  face  was  hard,  like  bronze,  and  his  eyes 
possessed  the  cold  look  of  the  professional  thug's,  and  a  thug  that 
trailer  was. 

He  was  dressed  that  night  as  he  appeared  a  few  days  afterward 
when  his  name  had  been  made  known  to  the  world  by  a  deed  that 
inade  it  shudder.  .    , 

At  last  the  president's  cal/er  entered  a  small  flame  house,  the 
door  of  which  she  unlocked  with  a  key  which  she  found  under  the 
step  at  a  place  where  she  knew  where  to  look  for  it. 

A  pantherish  bound  carried  the  tracker  to  the  door  almost  be- 
fore she  could  close  it,  and  his  eyes  glittered  triumphantly  when 
he  failed  to  hear  the  key  growl  in  the  lock. 

At  last  a  light  was  seen  lu  one  of  the  upper  windows,  for  the 
house  boasted  of  two  stories,  although  it  was  not  a  pretentious 
structure. 

Scarcely  had  he  discovered  the  light,  ere  he  tried  the  door. 

It  yielded  as  he  knew  it  would,  for  it  had  not  been  locked. 

With  the  tread  of  the  practised  house-breaker,  heentered,  found 
the  stair  up  which  the  woman  had  lately  crept,  and  began  to  as- 
cend. 

At  the  head  of  those  gloomy  steps  he  saw  a  door  slightly  ajar, 
and  beyond  it  the  figure  of  a  female  at  a  table. 

For  a  moment  the  man  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  sight,  then  cover- 
ing the  space  with  two  strides,  he  pushed  the  door  open  with  his 
murderous  band. 

Unfortunately  for  President  Lincoln's  night  visitor,  the  door  ut- 
toed  no  sound  as  it  opened,  and  the  man  glided  across  the  room 
and  leaned  oyer  the  woman's  shoulder. 


THE  WAB  LIBRARY. 


ving  across  ttte  paper  i 


beau- 


His  eyes  followed  the  pen  she 
front  of  her. 

How  they  glittered  as  he  glared  at  the  writing  which 
tif  ul,  like  the  ohirography  of  a  cultivated  woman. 

His  presence,  hideous  as  it  was,  was  not  suspected  by  the  writer; 
the  lamp  that  afforded  light  for  the  labor  threw  a  pair  of  shadows 
on  the  wall;  but  she  saw  them  not. 

All  at  once  the  brawny  hand  of  the  man  was  lifted,  and  the  next 
moment  it  fell  upon  the  woman's  shoulder. 

The  response  was  a  wild  cry,  and  the  woman  sprang  up  and 
whirled  upon  the  human  panther. 

"You  here?"  she  demanded,  with  flashing  eyes  and  crimsoned 
face.  "Who  are  you,  and  what  right  haye  you  to  invade  my 
home?" 

Before  the  tracker  replied,  he  glanced  at  the  sheet  halt  written 
over  on  the  table. 

Then  he  said : 

"  You  are  going  to  give  the  whole  thing  away." 

The  woman  started  as  if  a  sentence  of  death  had  unexpectedly 
rang  in  her  ears. 

"Don't  lie  to  rae,  girl,"  continued  the  Washington  thug,  ad- 
vancing upon  her  as  a  tiger  approaches  his  victim.  "  You  have 
been  to  the  White  House,  but  they  would  not  let  you  in,  so  you 
come  here  and  write  out  the  secret  to  send  to  Lincoln  if  he  refuses 
to  admit  you  to-morrow.  We  can't  be  trifled  with  at  this  stage  of 
the  game.    You  know  how  traitors  are  punished." 

He  pounced  upon  her  with  the  last  word,  and  before  she  could 
lift  a  hand,  his  flugers  encircled  her  arm,  and  seemed  to  burn  their 
way  to  the  bone. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  gasped  the  girl,  her  veil  oft  now,  revealing  a 
beautiful  face  but  divested  of  all  color. 

"  Who  am  I  ?  It  wouldn't  do  you  any  good  to  know,"  was  the 
reply.  "  But  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  seeing  that  you're  not 
?oing  to  trouble  ua  to-night.  I'm  the  helper  of  the  man  you 
would  send  to  the  gallows.  I  am  Wilkes'  friend.  We're  all  in  the 
same  boat,  Stella,  for  you  see  I  know  your  name.  If  we  are  to 
hang  we'll  all  hang  together ;  but  not  by  your  treachery.  I'm 
going  to  kill  you." 

The  woman  did  not  shriek  at  this  awful  announcement;  she 
eould  not,  for  the  hand  of  the  assassin  was  at  her  swan-like 
throat. 

He  lifted  her  by  main  strength  from  the  floor ;  her  eyes  seemed 
lo  start  from  her  head. 

"  Wilkes  and  I  don't  allow  no  interferers,"  he  went  on.  "All 
Heaven  shall  not  keep  us  from  beheading  the  Yankee  govern- 
ment." 

An  hour  later  a  boat  comiqg  from  the  middle  of  the  Potomac 
reacDwl  tire  auuie,  aud  a  mau  sprang  out  and  landed  some  feet  be- 
yond the  tide. 

An  exclamatioa  of  satisfaction  fell  from  his  lips. 

"I  found  her  just  in  time.  Her  lips  are  sealed  forever !"  he 
baid. 

It  was  Stella's  merciless  tracker. 

What  had  he  done  with  President  Liucoln  nocturnal  visitor  ? 


CHAPTER    VII 


STRIKING   THE   OLD   TRAIL. 

On  the  morning  of  March  1,  1865,  the  chief  usher  of  the  White 
House  watched  in  vain  for  the  veiled  visitor  whom  he  had  refused 
to  admit  to  Mr.  Lincoln's  presence  the  night  before. 

She  "liil  not  come. 

It  her  tracU'i-  had  given  her  body  to  the  waves  of  the  Potomac, 
the  secret  wh.cii  she  might  have  divulge<J  would  perhaps  remain  a 
secret  forever. 

Stella,  the  rrmler  will  recollect,  was  the  woman  seen  with  Booth 
I  in  Richmond  tlie  night  that  witnessed  the  events  detailed  in  the 
first  chapters  of  our  romance. 

She  had  followed  him  to  Washington— for  what  1 

Ah  !  who  shall  say  that  the  great  plotter  of  the  age  had  not  in- 
I  spired  love  in  the  heart  of  that  fair  young  girl? 

Certain  it  was  that  she  knew  Booth's  designs  against  Lincoln,  for 
i  prior  to  the  date  of  our  story,  the  conspirators  had  given  up 
all  hopes  of  kidnaping  the  president,  and  had  resolved  to  take  his 
life. 

When? 

If  not  on  March  4,  the  day  of  his  second  inauguration  as  presi- 
dent, why  was  Stella  so  eager  to  see  the  doomed  ruler  before  that 
day? 

Witness  the  piece  of  paper  which  Cantwell,  the  war  detective, 
showed  to  Paul  Phillips  in  Richmond,  the  pnper  whiih  reaii : 
"  Abraham  Lincoln— died,  March  4,  186r,.' 

Why  not  March  i  ? 

That  day  would  be  likely  for  several  reasons  to  be  chosen  by 
the  cabal. 


The  forenoon  of  March  1  slipped  away,  and  when  the  sun  reached 
the  meridian  the  White  House  usher  ceased  to  look  longer  for  the 
veiled  woman— Stella. 

The  president  had  many  callers,  but  she  was  not  among  them. 

Among  the  visitors  was  a  man  with  a  red  beard,  who  would  have 
attracted  attention  anywhere. 

His  "searching  eyes  of  spotted  gray  "  seemed  to  see  every  face 
in  the  crowd  through  which  he  passed  to  the  president  who  occu- 
pied at  that  time  the  long  room  in  which  he  had  passed  so  many 
weary  days. 

This  visitor  was  Colonel  Lafayette  Baker,  the  chief  of  the  secret 
service,  and  the  man  who  was  soon  to  become  the  president's 
avenger. 

"  You're  the  very  man  I've  been  waiting  for.  Baker,"  said  Lin- 
coln, a  pleasant  smile  illumining  his  careworn  countenance  the 
moment  his  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  detective.  Some  one  must 
have  told  you  my  desires.  Baker,  the  White  House  had  a  visitor 
last  night  who  was  not  allowed  to  see  me.  She  was  very  desirous 
of  having  an  interview  with  me,  aud  promised  to  call  this  morning 
at  ten.  She  has  not  come,  and  I  am  a  little  concerned  about  her. 
From  what  the  officer  on  duty  at  the  time  tells  me  I  am  convinced 
that  she  had  a  warning  of  some  kind  to  impart.  Perhaps  she  has 
called  on  you?" 

"  She  has  not  Mr.  President.    How  was  she  dressed  ?" 

"  In  plain  black,  and  closely  veiled,"  replied  Lincoln.  "Some- 
how or  other,  I  would  like  to  see  her.  I  don't  know  why,  but  she 
was  so  anxious  to  see  me." 

Seeing  the  interest  the  president  took  in  the  strange  woman. 
Baker  promised  to  And  her  If  possible,  and  Lincoln  urged  him  to 
do  so,  adding  that  he  was  afraid  something  had  happened  her. 

Colonel  Baker  was  familiar  with  the  people  who  were  constantly 
warning  the  president  of  danger. 

On  several  occasions  he  had  shown  Mr.  Lincoln  threatening  let- 
ters, only  to  hear  him  say : 

"  I  don't  see  what  they  want  to  kill  me  for.  Baker;  they  might 
get  a  worse  man." 

He  did  not  take  much  stock  in  the  veiled  woman ;  he  placed  her 
in  the  same  category  with  other  females  who  had  intruded  them- 
selves upon  the  president  to  unfold  some  horrid  dream  of  miuier, 
aud  bid  him  beware  for  his  life. 

"I  won't  run  my  men  to  death  after  her,  that's  certain,"  said 
Baker,  to  himself,  as  he  left  the  White  House.  "  I've  got  otJnp 
things  on  my  mind.    I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Lennox  ?" 

He  had  scarcely  asked  himself  this  question  ere  a  man  steppecl 
from  the  shadow  of  a  tree  in  front  of  the  presidential  mansion, 
and  by  a  single  look  attracted  his  attention. 

"Lennox  now!"  exclaimed  the  detective  chief,  and  the  next 
moment  the  two  men  stood  face  to  face. 

"By  Jove!  I  just  asked  myself  what  had  become  of  you,"  con- 
tinued Baker.    "  I  haven't  heard  from  you  for  a  long  time." 

If  the  man  was  Leon  Lennox,  or  Silas  Cantwell,  as  we  best 
know  him,  he  did  not  start,  but  merely  said  : 

"This  is  the  first  of  March." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  chief. 

"  Well,  what  have  you   done?    You  got  cipher  number  tweuty- 

"  I  got  number  twenty-five." 

"Andnot  tweuty-six?" 

"I  never  saw  it." 

"Nor  Paul?" 

"Nor  Paul." 

Despite  his  public  surroundings,  Cantwell  threw  his  hand  to  his 
forehead,  and  kept  it  there  tor  a  second. 

"  I  started  Paul  aud  the  message  from  Richmond  on  the  night  of 
the  ninth  of  February.    Can  it  be  that  neither  reaohed  you  ?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  them.    Come  to  the  office." 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  until  the  two  men  weio  seated  in 
Colonel  Baker's  private  office. 

"  You  can  proceed  now,  Lennox,"  said  Baker.  "Your  last  cipher 
dispatch  was  dated  at  Richmond,  on  the  first  of  February.  What 
has  happened  since  then?" 

Cantwell  started  as  thougli    the    voice   of   one  long  dead  had 


"I'd  rather  not  stop   to  tell  you  a.,  now,  colonel,"  he  said,  in 
tones  barely  his  own.     "  I've  had  adventures  since  then,  scores  of 
them.    I've  been  kidnaped,  aud  the  inmate  of  a  dungeon,  dark  as 
the  Egyptian  darkness  of  old,  and  twice  as  foul." 
•In  Richmond?" 

"God  knows  where  it  was,  but  I  think  it  wasn't  a  thousand 
miles  from  .Jeff  Oivis' mansion,"  s.iid  the  war  detective,  with  a 
glim  smile.  "  I'm  hire  in  Washington  now— in  God's  country 
again— and  I'm  thaukful  for  it.  Let  me  postpone  my  narrative.  I 
sent  some  news  iu  the  dispatch  intrusted  to  Paul ;  but  never  mind 
It  now.    Three  days  hence  the  president  is  to  be  inaugurated." 

"Yes." 


10 


THE  WAR  LIBRARYv- 


'  •  I'll  Hud  them  all,  Paul)  the  lost  dispatch,  and  the  others'.' 
cried  Cant  well,  leaving  hia  chaif.  "  I  swore  to  get  even  with  them 
when  I  couldn't  see  my  hand  before  my  face.  By  Heaven!  Ill 
make  that  obituary  notice  the  blackest  lie  ever  penned  I  I  told 
him  he'd  hav3  to  kill  me  if  he  wanted  to  succeed,  and  he  hasn't 
done  it  yet." 

From  under  his  reddisli  eyebrows  Baker  eyed  (lantwell  with  ;lii 
expression  that  tried  to  read  his  secret  thoughts. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  he  asked,  almost  sternly. 

••  Let  me  answer  you  later,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  haven't  been  in 
Washington  six  hours,  but  they're  all  here.  I'll  bet  my  life  on 
that.  I  will  strike  the  trail  before  morning,  and  one  pretty  little 
scheme  I  know  of  will  gang  aglee,  or  my  name's  not  Leon  Len- 
nox, of  the  secret  service.  I  have  but  one  question  to  ask  you. 
colonel.    Is  Wilkes  Booth,  the  actor,  in  Washington  J" 

"  I  saw  him  yesterday  on  the  avenue." 

■'  That's  all.     Good-day,  colonel.     I    will    report    success   before 


reply,  t'antwell  vanished 


.ng. 


Without    giving   Baker  a    cha 
through  the  officer's  door. 

"Don't  I  know  that  they're  all  here?  "  he  said,  to  himself,  when 
on  the  street.  "  They've  laid  their  plans  for  the  fourth  of  March ; 
but,  by  the  elerual !  I'm  here  to  crush  them  all." 

Cantwell  passed  rapidly  down  the  street  watched  by  a  man  who 
appeared  to  be  a  street  loafer. 

"When  did  the  grave  give  you  up,  Silas  Cantwell?"  muttered 
the  detective's  watcher.  "  I've  got  another  job  on  my  hands,  I 
see.  I  got  away  with  a  traitoress  last  night ;  to-night  I  will  attend 
to  a  man  spy.    Your  days  are  numbered,  Silas  Cantwell." 


CHAPTER  VUI. 

PAUL'S    ADVENTURKS. 

If  Paul  Phillips  had  not  reached  Washington  with  the  impor- 
Vuit  cipher  message  intrusted  to  his  care  by  the  war  detective, 
what  had  become  of  hiui  ? 

When  we  saw  him  last  he  was  attempting  to  leave  Richmond  by 
a  route  which  he  had  traveled  before,  and  a  route  with  which  he 
was  well  acquainted. 

.\t  last  he  had  the  city  iu  his  rear,  and  for  the  first  time  since 
leaving,  Silas  Cantwell,  as  we  prefer  to  call  the  war  detective,  he 
breathed  free. 

Piiui  stood  in  a  road  waich  was  illy  bordered  by  a  few  trees, 
whose  lowest  limbs  were  beyond  his  reach,  and  as  he  listened,  he 
heard  the  approach  of  a  body  of  cavalry. 

Til  .'•lep  behind  the  nearest  tree  was  the  work  of  an  instant,  and 
with  his  hand  at  bis  revolver,  which  he  had  resolved  not  to  use  ex- 
cept in  the  case  of  extreme  danger,  the  detective's  messenger 
waited  for  the  troop. 

Presently  their  outlines  loomed  up  between  the  young  loyalist 
uiid  the  scattering  stars,  and  the  next  moment  instead  of  passing 
the  tree,  as  he  bad  expected,  tliM  foremost  drew  rein  and  said, 
laughingly  to  his  twenty  compaiiious; 

"  It's  not  a  case  of  life  and  death,  lioys.  Let's  stop  here  awhile 
and  rest.  We're  not  bouiKl  to  get  to  Richmond  before  daylight,  ii 
1  understand  the  orders:  -sd,  what's  the  difference?" 

"  Let's  have  a  light  and  a  game !"  ."iiddenly  exclaimed  one  of  the 
troopers.  "Thar's  plenty  of  wood  under  the  tree.  I've  got  a  few 
Yankee  dollars  to  lose  before  we  see  Richmond." 

Howeaeerly  I'mil  waicticd  t lie  Hooper. 

Not  for  a  sinsrii'  niouient  did  he  take  hi-  cv.-s  from  him,  for  step 
*i\  step  he  cttiuc  ncKier  on  his  wood  gallieiiug  expedition. 

All  atoii.ellie  Union  nit-ssengcr  slirai.k  buck,  for  the  rebel's 
band  had  actually  toinhcil  lii:<  arm. 

""  I've  got  to  make  a  dash  1,jt  lilierly,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Tlie  following  nistaut  be  rose  90  suddenly  before  the  Confeder- 
nie,  that  the  latter  taken  by  surprise  dropped  his  wood,  and  re- 
coiled with  a  frightening  cry. 

This  was  exactly  what  Paul  did  not  want!  however,  he  tried  to 
liiake  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain. 

Fearful  that  the  trooper  would  alarm  his  companions  with  a 
louder  cry,  he  leaped  boldly  forward  and  sent  him  staggering 
away  l)y  a  well  aimed  blow  which  broke  an  exclamation  that 
would  have  sealed  his  own  doom. 

He  sprang  forward. 

••  Hold  on.  Bill,"  said  a  voice,  at  his  elbow,  and  a  thrill  went  to 
Paul's  heart  as  a  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder.  "Who's  that  you  jes' 
struck  1" 

Paul  wheeled  with  the  intention  of  treating  the  speaker  in  a  like 
manner,  but  before  he  could  lift  his  hand  he  was  discovered  with 
an  oath,  and  the  hand  flew  instantly  from  his  shoulder  to  his 
throat. 

"  Hyer,  boys,  I've  catched  something,"  called  out  the  cavalry- 
man to  his  comrades,  and  in  less  than  a  minute  Paul  found  him- 
.■<elf  surrounded  by  the  entire  troop  save  the  one  he  had   knocked 


A  dozen  mutches  served  as  torches  till  better  ones  could  be  ob- 
tained, which  was  within  a  few  moments. 

"Another  Yankee  spy,"  fell  upon  Paul's  ears.  "By  George! 
we've  made  a  lucky  halt.  I  say,  pard,  show  np,  or  we'll  s'arch  ye 
much  to  yer  disadvantage."  * 

"  Strip  him,  boys."  said  the  leader  of  the  squad  in  reply  to  Paul's 
arguments.     "  Ef  be  resists  we'll  search  him  dead." 

The  revolver  that  covered  him  probably  influenced  Paul,  for  he 
divested  himself  of  his  coat  which  he  handed  to  his  captors. 

It  was  speedily  searched  as  far  as  the  pocketa  were  concerned, 
and  his  jacket,  the  treasury  of  his  wardrobe,  was  subjected  to  a 
like  test. 

"Now  yer  boots!  You  know  what  the  Continentals  found  in 
Major  Andre's,  pard— enough  to  hang  him." 

Paul  pulled  off  his  boots,  then  his  socks,  in  neither  of  which 
anything  was  found. 

His  captors  looked  puzzled. 

"  Go  over 'em  agin,  boys.  You've  missed  the  dispatches,"  said 
the  leader.     "This  man  is  a  Yankee  spy." 

Paul  was  ordered  to  divest  himself  of  the  last  vestige  of  clothing, 
wliich  he  did,  and  saw  it  subjected  to  a  rigid  sciuliny. 

The  cipher  message  was  still  safe. 

One  by  one  Paul  was  permitted  to  don  his  garments  again. 

"  It's  somewhar  about  'im— I  know  It,"  persisted  the  head  Con- 
federate     "  Ef  the  back  ov  tnet  jacket  is  double  cut  it  open." 

Paul  started  at  the  command,  and  the  garment  which  he  was 
about  to  don,  thankful  that  Cantwell's  message  had  been  saved, 
was  jerked  from  his  hands. 

-'  It's  double,  cap'n." 

"Cut  it  open !" 

In  less  than  a  minute,  and  before  Paul's  eyes,  a  knife  was  applie.i 
to  the  back  of  the  garment. 

He  saw  the  cipher  message  deposited  carefully  in  the  pocket  of 
the  leader  of  the  squad,  and  Ave  minutes  later  he  was  mounted  and 
on  his  way  back  to  Richmond. 

Before  the  night  waned  he  found  himself  in  Richmond  again, 
and  instead  of  being  far  from  the  Confederate  capital  and  on  the 
road  to  AYashington,  as  he  had  hoped  to  be  at  that  hour,  he  was 
the  occupant  of  a  room  on  the  first  floor,  guarde<l  by  he  kiiew  not 
how  many  rebel  shoulders. 

It  was  not  far  from  sundown  again  ere  mo  young  man  was  vis- 
ited iu  prison. 

Then  he  was  taken  out  and  escorted,  closely  guarde<k,  to  Gen- 
eral Beauregard's  headquarters,  where  he  was  confronted  by  the 
general  himself  and  several  other  officers. 

The  rtist  thing  Paul  saw  was  his  dispatch  lying  open  on  the 
table. 

"  Read  that  paper,"  said  Beauregard,  pushing  the  message  to- 
ward Paul. 

"  I  can't,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"  Ha !  you  did  not  write  it,  then  ?" 

Paul  was  silent,  with  the  eyes  of  the  Confederates  fixed  apon 
him. 

"  I'll  never  betray,  Leon,"  he  said  to  himself. 

The  next  moment  Beauregard  cut  the  silence  sharply. 

"  I  give  you  till  morning  to  decipher  that  dispatch,  young  man," 
be  said.  "  If  you  refuse,  we'll  pull  you  np.  Take  him  back,  cap- 
tain."   

CHAPTER  IX. 

PAUL   RUNS   FOR   LIFE. 

Paul  went  back  to  prison  with  the  last  words  of  General  Beaure- 
gard ringing  in  his  ears. 

He  found  the  place  as  comfortless  as  he  had  left  it,  and  when 
the  door  closed  behind  him,  the  almost  hopeless  situation  that 
faced  him  struck  a  chill  to  his  heart. 

More  than  once  during  the  moments  that  passed  over  bis  bead 
after  his  return  to  the  prison,  Paul  thought  of  Cantwell. 

Where  was  the  war  detective,  and  was  he  aware  of  the  peril  that 
luciiaced  his  messenger? 

More  than  once  Paul  asked  himself  this  question,  but  the  walls 
by  which  he  was  surrounded  returned  no  answer. 

Then  another  person  entered  his  mind,  the  veiled  woman  who 
had  brought  Cantwell  information  about  the  wild  scheme  that 
iM'.riied  in  Wilkes  Booth's  brain. 

Pauline,  she  called  herself,  and  he  had  seen  her  face  only  to  start 
and  recognize  a  friend,  who,  years  before,  had  been  his  school- 
mate, a  young  girl  named  Pauline  Dupont,  his  flrst  love,  and  the 
first  woman  with  whom  he  had  quarreled. 

Was  it  not  strange  that  they  should  meet  amid  the  ezoitementof 
war  in  the  capital  of  the  Confederacy,  he  the  messenger  of  a  loyal 
detective,  a  spy  himself,  and  she— he  dared  not  think  who  she 
might  be. 

Years  before  he  had  lost  sight  of  Pauline  Dupont ;  after  the 
(luarrel  they  had  drifteil  apart,  although  he  believed  that  she 
secretly  loved  him. 


THE  WA.R  LlZr^. 


He  could  not  take   llie  girl  Iruiii    Ins   iiiiiKl ;  ^llr•  ^,•l•.liv.. 
■Willi  him  in  llie  iirisoii,  aud  while  he  stood  lit  the  oue  small  g2iii>-'> 
wiiiiloH,  in  lliffratheiing  shadows  of  night,  he  relieved  theda>; 
<.f  lii--  J  oiilh  ;iim1  enjoyed  the  scenes  for  years  forgotten. 

S.  iiiteiisr  well'  liislhonghta  concerning  tlicjiast,  that  he,  for  the 
t  •■•,.■  being,  forgot  his  sitiiiition,  and  the  danger  that  faced  him 
u  IS  kept  aloof  by  tlionghts  of  Pauline  Dupont,  found  after  so  long 

.11  at  once  Paul  started,  for  something  thrown  from  the  street 
1    it.il  i)ast  his  cheek,  and  he   turned   to  see  a  ball  of  paper  on  the 

Night  had  fallen  over  the  Confederate  capital,  and  he  had  Dot 
<iiught  a  glimpse  of  the  thrower  of  the  ball. 

His  hand  closed  about  it  with  an  eagerness  that  almost  brought 
:i  iry  to  his  lips. 

He  was  certain  it  had  been  thrown  into  the  room  by  a  friend,  but 
hy  whom? 

He  Ihoimht  (if  Cantwell. 

■  .\.h'.  he  has  heard  of  mv  misfortune,"  said  Paul,  to  himself, 
■"and  he  is  going  to  render  ine  some  assistance." 

He  went  hack  to  the  window  with  the  prize,  which   he  began  to 

He  di-covi  led  that  the  outside  of  the  ball  was  composed  of  the 
fragmi'ut  >'f  a  newspaper,  but  within  was  a  message  traced  on  the 
Jialf  ot  a  small  letter  sheet. 

Au  exiiression  of  disappointment  overspread  Paul's  countenance 
■when  he  found  that  he  could  not  read  the  message  for  the  night, 
iiut  he  strained  his  eyes  trying  to  do  so  until  the  balls  burned  in 
bis  linad  like  globes  of  fire. 

"To  ask  for  a  light  would  be  to  betray  ray  friend,"  he  said ; 
"but  I  must  ma^-ter  this  message!" 

Paul,  in  his  desperation,  searched  his  clothing  well. 

He  had  matches  when  he  was  captured,  but  they  had  been 
taken  from  him. 

A  hole  in  his  i)ocket  led  him  to  hope  that  the  find  would  not 
prove  a  bootless  one,  and  when  he  at  last  grasped  a  little  piece  of 
wood  and  drew  it  out,  he  could  hardly  repress  a  cry,  for  it  was  the 
head  of  a  luoifer  match  ! 

Paul  sprang  to  oue  corner  of  his  prison  and  knelt  down  with  his 
»)Hi-k  toward  the  window. 

Then  he  drew  the  bit  ot  inatc^h  along  the  floor,  aud  was  reward- 
ed with  the  appearance  of  a  flame. 

The  message  bail  been  snioolhed  ou I  before  hand,  and  his  eye- 
were  ready  to  master  it. 

Thereader  can  imagine  the  feelings  of  the  young  man  when  he 
lient  to  his  task. 

It  was  not  a  hopeless  one.  for  iu  a  moment,  as  it  ■were,  Paul  with 
the  aid  of  the  match,  had  read  the  following: 

"  Send  word  to  Beauregard  at  once  that  you  will  translate  the 
cipher  at  his  headquart«rs.  A  guard  will  come  for  you.  There 
will  be  a  demonstration  at  a  certain  alley.  Leap  away,  and  run 
down  it  to  a  gate  which  you  will  And  open.     It  is  your  only  hope. 

"  A  Friend." 

The  match  went  out  and  left  Paul  iu  darkness  again,  just  as  he 
reached  the  common  place  signature. 

If  ever  hej needed  "a  friend"  it  was  at  that  very  moment,  but 
who  was  helping  him  ? 

The  handwriting  was  not  Cantwell's. 

Was  it  Pauline's  ohirography  ? 

He  did  not  know. 

"  I'll  trust  my  friend,"  he  said,  half  audibly.  "I'll  send  word 
at  once  to  the  rebel  chief. 

Tearing  ihe  message  into  fragments  and  thrusting  them  through 
a  crevice  in  the  floor,  Paul  called  one  of  the  guards  iu  the  corridor 
outside,  and  cold  h:rn  that  he  had  decided  to  translate  the 
cipher. 

At  last,  after  what  seemed  hours  of  waiting,  although  in  reality 
not  more  than  flfteen  minutes  haa  passed,  a  commotion  in  the  cor- 
ridor told  him  that  a  number  oi  soldiers  had  arrived. 

When  the  door  opened,  the  light  ot  a  lantern  permeated  the 
room,  and  Paul  was  told  to  step  forth,  which  he  promptly  did. 

The  detective's  messeuger  found  himself  iu  the  midst  of  a  guard 
of  twelve  men,  under  the  command  of  a  lieutenant  whose  face 
was  sternness  itself. 

He  stud  not  a  word  to  Paul,  but  instantly  put  himself  at  the 
bead  of  the  little  detachment,  and  ordered  it  to  march. 

Paul  was  once  more  in  the  streets  of  Richmona,  ready  to  play 
his  part  of  the  desperate  game  which  had  just  commenced. 

The  tramp  of  the  guard  echoed  on  the  night  air  as  it  marched 
toward  Beauregard's  headquarters,  distant  more  than  a  dozen 
squares  from  the  prison  where  Paul  had  been  confined. 

Block  after  block  was  passed  till  the  loyalist  became  uneasy. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven!  where  is  that  alley '^'  he  asked  him- 
•elf .  "  Can  it  be  that  my  friend  has  failed  to  carry  out  his  plans  ? 
«  he  has,  1  shall  go  back  to  prison  without  facing  Beauregard." 

Thii  was  Paul's  resolve, 


mce  further  on  the  lender  of  the  guard  was  brought 
ith  two  men  indulging  in  ii  violent  quarrel  on  the 


the   air  behind    him. 


face  to  la 
sidewalk.     • 

They  would  not  niovn  oft  at  bis  commaud,  aud  suddenly  they 
came  to  blows  and  tluu  giuppled  like  mad  wrestlers. 

The  guard  was  forced  to  hull,  and  lliene.tt  inoinentthe  two  con- 
testants were  writhing  in  and  out  among  the  .ou fused,  soldiers, 
despite  the  lieutenant's  efforts  to  (piict  Ihem. 

It  was  Paul's  moment. 

The  scene  just  described  was  taking  place  at  themouth  of  asmall 
ojieuing  which  might  be  called  au  alley,  and  it  flashed  through  the 
young  loyalist's  brain  that  it  must  be  the  demonstration  promised 
in  the  mysterious  message. 

"NoWs  your  chance,"  ejaculated  one  of  the  combatants,  reeling 
against  Paid.    "  Make  the  break  and  run  for  it." 

Wo  need  not  say  that  Paul  did  not  want  to  hear  another  word. 

He  broke  through  the  ranks  of  his  guard  with  the  force  of  a 
stag  breaking  through  the  stockades  of  his  pen,  and  sprang  down 
the  alley. 

Triumph  seemed  to  lend  him  wings. 

"The  Yankee  has  escaped!"    rang  ou 
"  He's  got  into  the  alley " 

"Fire!  flre!  let  him  have  it,  then  !" 

The  lieutenant's  command  was  obeyed  before  it  was  finished. 

Bang!  bang!  went  the  guns  of  the  guard,  as  they  touched  tha 
soldier's  shoulders,  and  all  at  once  with  a  cry  Paul  pitched  for- 
T/ard  and  fell  at  the  foot  of  the  alley  fence. 

At  the  same  time  the  two  men  who  had  given  him  a  chance  for 
his  life,  disappeared  from  among  the  Confederates. 

The  Confederates  entered  the  alley  with  muskets  reloaded. 

Thirty  yards  from  the  mouth  they  found  a  man  lying  on  his 
face. 

"  Hyer  he  is,  dead  as  a  mack'rel !" 

The  soldiers  turned  the  body  over  and  held  a  match  close  to 
Paul's  face,  which  was  flecked  with  freshly  spilled  blood. 

As  they  raised  him  up  he  gasped  aud  threw  a  wild  look  around. 

"  Death  will  finish  him  shortly,"  aid  the  rebel-lieutenant,  after 
a  glance.  "  There's  no  use  of  tak'.ng  him  to  Beauregard  now.  Take 
him  in  yon  house  where  you  see  a  door  open.  If  he  lives  awhile 
we'll  take  him  to  the  hospital.  That  cipher  dispatch,  I'm  think- 
ing, will  never  be  read." 

The  next  morning  at  daylight  a  wagon  drove  from  that  bouse, 
aud  Paul  Phillips,  still  alive,  and  delirious,  was  taken  to  the  hoi- 
pital,  "  that  he  might  die  there,"  some  one  said. 

Did  he  accommodate  the  Confederates  by  dying  there? 

We  have  seen  that  up  to  the  first  of  Maroh,  two  weeks  after  hit 
adventures,  he  bad  not  reported  to  Colonel  Baker,  at  WaabingtOD. 

Whether  living  or  dead  his  whereabouts  were  shrouded  in  mya- 
tery. 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE    WAR    DETECTIVE   KEEPS    HIS    WORD. 

"Your  days  are  numbered,  Silas  Cantwell." 

These  words  spoken,  as  we  know,  on  the  streets  of  Washington 
jn  the  night  of  the  first  of  March,  reached  no  ears  but  those  of  tbe 
man  who  uttered  them. 

The  war  detective  had  uuexpectedly  turned  up  at  the  national 
capital  at  a  moment  when  Wilkes  Booth  had  fully  prepared  to 
strike  a  blow  that  would  startle  the  world. 

But  two  days  intervened  between  Cantwell'a  return  and  Lin- 
coln's second  inauguration. 

Only  forty-eight  hours  stood  between  the  great  president  and 
the  gates  of  eternity,  for  Booth  had  chosen  the  fourth  of  Maroh 
for  his  terrible  work. 

If  no  one  baffied  him— if  his  scheme  was  not  discovered— he  and 
bis  associates  would  carry  out  the  most  diabolical  plot  on  record. 

Who  could  balHe  him  ? 

He  knew  that  Paul  Phillips  and  his  cipher  message  had  never 
reached  Colonel  Baker,  and  he  thought  that  Silas  Cantwell,  once 
his  friend,  but  now  his  enemy,  was  out  of  his  road  forever,  for 
certain  events  which  assured  him  this  had  lately  occurred  in  Rich- 
mond. 

He  had  gathered  around  him  some  of  the  characters  who  after- 
ward shared  the  fate  he  met  after  striking  the  blow  meditated  so 
long. 

Among  them  was  one  Payne,  a  murderer  at  heart,  aod  a 
member  ot  a  family  of  Kentucky  outlaws. 

This  man  would  stoop  to  any  deed  of  darkness  or  violence;  he 
had  no  conscience;  he  seemed  destitute  of  a  soul. 

It  was  he  who  saw  Silas  Cantwell  when  he  left  Colonel  Baker's 
headquarters  the  night  of  his  return  to  Washington;  he  it  was 
who  followed  him  with  the  stealthy  tread  of  the  assassin,  declaring 
that  his  days  were  numbered. 

Payne  knew  that  with  the  war  detective  at  the  capital.  Booth's 
plot  was  oQ  the  eve  of  failure,  and  tail  it  should  not  if  he  oould 
track  Cantwell  down  that  nigbt. 


12 


L'HB  WAR  LIBRARY. 


Tbe  detective  did  not  suspect  that  he  was  followed,  fur  he  pro- 
ceeded quite  leisurely  along  the  areuue,  aud  did  not  pause  until 
he  reached  n  small  frame  house  a  short  distance  from  the  capitol 
itse4f. 

For  the  first  time  casting  about  him  to  see  that  be  was  not  ob- 
served by  any  suspicious  characters,  he  entered  by  means  of  a  key 
which  he  took  from  beneath  the  step,  and,  to  Payne's  chagrin, 
Jocked  the  door  behind  him. 

if  "  I  can  watch,"  said  the  tracker,  smothering  his  disappointment. 
"  He  hasn't  entered  that  house  to  sptnd  the  night  there.  Knowing 
what  he  does  about  my  master's  plot,  he  bas  come  to  Washington 
to  work,  not  to  rest." 

The  watoher  had  taken  up  his  station  under  a  large  shade-tree  a 
few  yai-ds  from  the  house  from  whence,  well  hidden  by  its  trunk, 
he  ctouM  watch  the  door  for  Cautwell's  reappearance. 

His  eyes  told  that  he  was  sure  of  his  victim,  aud  they  did  not 
abate  their  confidence  as  the  minutes  wore  away. 

Not  until  an   hour  had  passed  did  Booth's  thug  show  signs  of 
restlessness. 
What  had  become  of  Silas  Cantwell  ? 

"I'd  give  a  hundred  dollars  to  he  in  that  house  a  minute,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "  He  cauuot  have  lef t  it.  I  have  not  taken  my 
eyes  from  the  door  for  a  moment.     It  is  not  possible— — " 

At  that  very  momeut  the  door  opened,  and  a  man  who  did  not 
in  the  least  particle  resemble  the  war  detective  came  out,  and 
halted  on  the  step  for  a  moment. 

Payne  leaned  forward  and  eyed  the  man  with  breathless  curi- 
osity. 

He  looked  fully  two  inches  shorter  than  Cantwell ;  his  face  was 
covered  with  a  thick  iron-gray  beard  as  the  rays  of  the  nearest 
lamp  showed  the  tracker,  and  he  looked  almost  twenty  years 
older  than  the  war  detective. 

"  The  sleuth-hound  in  a  new  skin— that's  all,"  ejaculated  Payne, 
smiling  triumphantly  as  he  watched  the  man.  "  If  I  kill  you,  my 
good  fellow,  I  put  Silas  Cantwell  forever  out  of  our  way.  You  did 
deo^vemefor  a  moment,  but  I'm  on  the  right  track  again.  Ha! 
off  you  go!" 

The  last  exclamation  was  caused  by  the  watched  man  leaving  the 
step,  and  when  he  had  proceeded  a  short  distance,  Payne  sprang 
after  him  with  the  same  noiseless,  tigerish  tread. 

The  hour  was  not  late,  and  the  avenue  was  thronged  with  peo- 
ple; but  nobody  seemed  to  notice  the  thug  and  bis  marked  victim, 
neither  did  the  former  lose  sight  of  his  man. 

•'  What!  does  ho  know  where  Wilkes  is  to  be  found  ?"  suddenly 
cried  Payne,  as  his  victim  immediatedly  started  across  the  thor, 
oughfare.  "  I  am  sure  that  he  hasn't  been  two  hours  in  Washing- 
ton, and  yet  he  strikes  out  for  the  master's  quartei-s." 

Cantwell,  for  we  may  as  well  acknowledge  that  the  tracked  man 
is  the  war  detective,  had  slightly  increased  his  gait,  and  Payne,  in 
turn,  did  thi;  same. 

All  at  once  he  stopped  before 'a  closed  door,  which  appeared  to 
bar  one's  way  to  the  upper  stories  of  the  building  he  then  faced, 
and  a  glance  at  the  number,  readable  on  the  transom,  seemed  to 
satisfy  him. 

Payne,  with  excited  countenance,  was  now  not  more  than  thirty 
feet  away,  breathing  hard,  and  grinding  his  teeth  like  a  maddened 
tiger. 

"  How  does  he  know  that  Wilkes  is  up  there  V  ho  shot  out  from 
between  his  clinched  teeth.  "  What  infernal  fate  is  conspiring 
agaitut  us  by  bringing  that  man  to  Washington,  when  we  thought 
him  dead  ?  He  told  Wilkes  in  Richmond  thathe'd  have  to  kill  him 
if  he  wanted  to  succeed  in  his  scheme  against  the  president.  I  see 
that  we'll  have  to  do  that,  for  while  he  lives,  Lincoln  lives !" 

Payne  had  scarcely  ceased,  ere  Cantwell  laid  his  hand  ou  the 
white  knob  at  the  side  of  the  door,  and  pulled  it  toward  him. 

With  the  blade  of  a  formidable  dirk  along  his  arm,  he  crept  for- 
ward in  the  shadow  of  the  houses,  his  eyes  fastened  on  Cantwell, 
and  his  whole  nature  roused  to  the  work  he  was  about  to  do. 

Ere  he  reached  his  victim,  however,  the  door  was  opened  in  re- 
sponse to  the  detective's  ring,  and  the  next  moment  Cantwell  had 
crossed  the  threshold. 

"  That  boy  Harold's  a  fool  for  admitting  him  I"  growled  Payne, 
baffled  and  chagrined,  as  he  was  forced  to  halt,  with  bloodless 
dirk,  before  the  door.  "Let  them  go  up  stairs  first.  They  oan't 
keep  me  out  long." 

He  waited  a  moment,  and  then  softly  unlocked  the  door  by 
means  of  a  night-key,  and  glided  into  the  dark  place  beyond. 

Cantwell,  and  the  person  who  had  admitted  him,  had  disap- 
peared. 

"  I've  tracked  him  down,  and  here  1  will  wait  for  him,"  contin- 
ued Payne,  hugging  the  darkest  corner  in  the  meager  corridor, 
which  was  the  spot  behind  the  door.  "  To-night,  Silas  Cantwell' 
your  last  hunt  ends. "  ' 

Meanwhile  the  detective  and  his  guide,  who  looked  like  a  fop- 
pish youth  of  nineteen,  had  reached  the  landing  above,  where  a 
dimly    burning  gas-jet  feebly   revealed  several    doors  ' 


■'This  way,  sir,"  said  the  youth,  turning  to  the  left.  "You  will 
QriiJ  Booth  with  his  company,  but,  as  you  know  tbe  coloHel,  of 
course  you  will  be  no  intruder." 

A  minute  later  the  speaker  opened  a  door,  and  Cantwell  stepped 
into  a  large,  well  lighted  room,  which  contained  two  persons. 

One  of  these  was  a  large,  fine-looking  man,  with  a  military  beai  - 
iug,  and  more  than  fifty  years  old;  the  other  was  tall,  elegantly 
built,  with  the  face  of  an  Adonis,  and  many  years  hiscompaiiion',< 
junior. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Booth,"  said  Cantwell,  " for  intruding  upon 
your  privacy;  but  I  come  on  an  errand  of  business,  whose  im- 
portance cannot  be  delayed." 

Did  Booth  start  while  he  listened  to  the  detective's  words,  each 
one  of  which  seemed  to  have  been  carefully  selected  before  hand? 

"  State  your  business,"  he  said. 

"  This  gentleman  is  ray  friend,  Colonel  Ruby " 

"  Merely  a  transformation  of  gems,"  interrupted  Cantwell,  fix- 
ing his  eyes  on  the  man  in  the  chair.  "  In  Richmond  he  was  an 
Opal ;  in  Washington,  however,  he  shines  as  a  Ruby.  " 

The  next  instant  the  chair  was  deserted ;  the  portly  man  was  on 
his  feet,  his  eyes  almost  starting  from  his  head. 

"Great  God  I  I  know  him  now,  Wilkes,"  he  cried.  "That  man 
is  Silas  Cantwell,  the  Yankee  spy." 

Booth  started  forward,  every  vestige  of  color  driveu  from  his 
handsome  face,  and  his  eyes  gleaming  like  mad  stars. 

"  Not  the  Silas  Cantwell  I  met  in  Richmond,"  he  said.  "  It  can- 
not be  the  same  man,  for " 

"  He,  you  precious  plotters  buried  alive,  eh  ?"  interrupted  the  de- 
tective, "lam  the  same  man!"  he  went  on.  "What  did  I  tell 
you  when  I  saw  you  last,  Wilkes  Booth?— that  you'd  have  to  kill 
me  to  succeed.  I  am  here  to  repeat  my  words.  I  am  here  to  tell 
you  that  Abraham  Lincoln  will  be  inaugurated  day  after  to-mor- 
row, and  that  you  may  swing  that  day  'twixt  earth  and  heaven 
for  your  plots.    Beware!  I  never  warn  a  man  twice!" 

Cantwell,  with  outstretched  arm  and  still  facing  Booth,  steppeil 
toward  the  door. 

After  his  last  word,  one  might  have  heard  a  feather  drop  in  that 
room. 

It  was  a  startling  tableau. 

Suddenly,  Booth  seemed  to  regain  volition. 

"Beware  yourself,  Silas  Cantwell!"  he  cried.  "lean  lift  my 
finger  aud  blot  >  ou  from  existence,  even  here  in  Washington!" 

The  response  was  a  defiant  laugh. 

"Do  all  you  can,  fool!"  said  Cantwell,  a  moment  later.  "You 
are  fast  digging  the  most  infamous  grave  ever  made  on  this  con- 
tinent. The  fourth  of  March  Is  almost  here.  It  shall  not  see  you 
triumph.     Beware!" 

Cantwell's  heels  were  at  the  threshold  as  he  uttered  the  last  word 
and  ere  Booth  could  reply  he  was  going  down  the  stair. 

"  I'll  make  his  boast  a  lie!"  vociferated,  the  plotter  drawing  a 
revolver  and  springing  toward  the  door. 

"My  God!  not  here,  Wilkes!  It  might  betray  my  presence  in 
Washington,"  and  white-faced  Colonel  Opal  clutched  Booth's 
arm. 

"  I  didn'tinvite  you  thither!"  cried  Booth. 

"  I  know  that,  but " 

' '  Hark !  what's  that  ?    Cantwell  has  met  some  one  below. ' ' 

Yes;  the  war  detective  had  encountered  somebody  in  the  little 
space  at  the  foot  of  the  stair. 

A  figure,  half  human,  half  tiger,  had  leaped  upon  him  with  a 
blade  that  possessed  a  gleam  even  in  the  dim  light  that  prevailed 
there. 

It  was  Payne. 

Although  taken  unawares,  Silas  Cantwell  had  met  the  attack  as 
best  he  could. 

"  We'll  triumph  on  the  fourth  of  March,  after  all ! "  was  hissed 
in  his  ears,  while  Booth,  holding  his  breath,  leaned  over  the  ban- 
nisters above,  and  watched  the  struggling  figures  below. 

Down  came  a  strength-mailed  arm  with  the  last  word,  but  a 
snapping  of  steel  followed,  and  something  dropped  to  the  floor. 

The  next  instant  a  cry  of  triumph  was  heard,  and  the  body  of  a 
man  fell  heavily  upon  the  steps. 

Then  the  door  opened  and  shut,  and  Wilkes  Booth  bounded 
down  the  stair. 

"  Great  Heaven,  it  is  Payne  I"  he  gasped,  bending  over  the  body 
in  the  corridor. 

Yes ;  the  man  lying  before  him,  gasping  and  still  conscious,  was 
his  associate  in  the  darkest  crime  in  history. 

Cantwell  was  gone. 

"  Why  didn't  you  kill  him  ?"  asked  Booth,  eagerly. 

"  I  tried  to,  but  curse  him  !  I  couldn't  drive  my  knife  through  a 
steel  vest!"  was  the  reply,  and  Payne's  eyes  wandered  to  the  dag- 
ger hilt  he  stiU  clutched  in  his  right  hand.  "But  never  mind, 
Wilkes ;  we'll  triumph  on  the  fourth  in  spite  of  him." 

"No,  Payne,  Silas  Cantwell  has  laid  his  plans  for  our  arrest. 
We  must  postpone  the  day.    Lincoln  shall  live  through  the  inaug- 


THE  WA.R  LIBRARY. 


13 


nration  ceremonieB ;  but  tbe  detei'tive's  triumph  shall  be  brief. 
We'll  plan  anew,  and,  wheu  we  get  ready  to  strike  again,  there 
will  be  no  Silas  Canlwell  to  baffle  us." 

Payne  ground  liis  teeth  till  they  cracked. 

•' You  are  the  master,  Wilkes,"  he  said.  "  The  next  time  there 
shall  be  no  failure." 


CHAPTER    XI. 


AT      WORK      AGAIN. 

Thus  the  great  inaugural  day  was  tided  over,  thanks  to  Silas 
Cantwell,  without  a  tragedy  to  clothe  the  whole  land  in  mourn- 
ing, and  to  shock  the  world. 

The  war  detective,  escaping  from  the  toils  lu  wliich  the  plotters 
had  enveloped  him  in  Richmond,  had  reached  Washington  in  time 
to  frustrate  Booth's  first  attempt. 

Would  he  be  as  successful  iu  dealing  with  tlin  secoud  one? 

We  shall  see. 

One  of  the  proudest  mtn  who  witnessed  the  inauguration  cere- 
monies was  the  detective  himself. 

He  knew  that  Booth  and  his  co-plotters  would  shrink  from  mur- 
der on  that  day,  since  the  government  detective  force  was  on  the 
alert,  and  ready  to  baffle  any  and  all  attempts  at  assassination. 

He  was  net  sure  that  Booth  was  notiu  Washiugton,  for,  although 
warned  that  his  plans  were  known,  the  plotter  would  be  hard  to 
drive  far  from  the  capital,  especially  when  he  had  at  his  command 
a  score  of  hding-plaoes  of  which  Cantwell  kuew  nothing. 

A  week  passed  away,  a  week  of  secret  meetings  and  new  plot.", 
new  plans. 

Tt  was  the  night  of  the  last  day  of  the  week  following  the  inau- 
gural, when  a  mau  dismounted  from  a  horse  in  front  of  an  old 
hotel  in  a  well  known  village  ten  miles  south-east  of  Washington. 

He  was  melon  the  steps  before  the  house  by  a  youth  of  fifteen, 
who  took  his  horse  and  led  him  away,  while  the  man  pushed  his 
way  into  the  house  without  announcing  his  presence  by  any  raps. 

"  Ah  I  here  you  are— on  time,  "  exclaimed  a  woman's  voice  when 
the  man  had  shut  tiie  door  behind  him.     "  You  are  never  late." 

"Punctuality  is  one  of  my  favorite  loves,"  was  the  reply,  as  the 
man  doffed  his  hat  and  steiipeU  inlu  ;i  plainly  lui  iiiilitil  room 
whose  lamp  instantly  revealed  him  as  Wilkes  Booth. 

The  woman  who  followed  him  into  the  room  was  large,  well 
formed,  and,  though  a  trifle  past  middle  age,  still  quite  handsome. 

Her  hair  was  brushed  back,  displaying  a  good  forehead,  and  the 
simple  dress  she  wore  lent  a  motherly  charm  to  her  appearance. 

No  one  would  have  suspected  at  first  glance  that  this  woman 
had  plotted  with  Booth  against  the  life  of  a  president,  that  the 
secret  meetings  of  the  conspirators  had  taken  place  under  her  root 
from  the  Inception  of  the  plot,  and  that  she  had  trained  her  chil- 
dren to  hate  with  her  the  life  of  such  a  ruler  as  the  martyr  Lin- 
coln. 

That  woman  was  Mrs.  Surratt,  the  village  Surrattaville,  and  the 
house   .Tohn    Lloyd's    hotel,    which,   in    reality,    belonged  to  the 


Booth's  oountenanoe  still  showed  the  deep  cliagriii  to  which 
Cant  well's  work  had  subjected  him. 

He  sent  several  searching  glances  around  the  room  as  he  en- 
tered, and  seeing  that  he  and  Mrs.  Surratt  were  its  only  oooupants, 
he  turned  to  her  and  said : 

"  Has  the  new  map  arrived  ?" 

"  It  came  to-day,"  was  the  answer,  and  turning  away  the  wom- 
an left  Booth  alone. 

For  several  minutes  the  doomed  young  actor  stood  where  he  had 
Drst  halted,  then  he  stepped  hastily  to  one  of  the  windows,  as 
though  a  footfall  had  sounded  on  his  guilty  ears. 

"  A  few  more  days  and  we  will  win,"  he  murmured.  "  Of  course 
we'll  all  receive  the  eternal  condemnation  of  the  North,  but  what 
of  that  7  We'll  win  everlasting  fame  by  the  deed,  and  the  un- 
speakable gratitude  of  the  South,  whose  wrongs  by  one  blow  will 
be  avenged.  Silas  Cantwell  is  a  fool  if  he  thinks  I  have  seceded 
from  my  schemes,  an  idiot  if  he  supposes  his  theatrical  warning 
has  unnerved  me.  I  am  fixed  in  my  purpose,  though  the  outcome 
cost  me  every  drop  of  my  blood.  The  die  is  oast,  and  Wilkes 
Booth  will  never  play  the  coward  I" 

He  endpd  abruptly,  for  a  footstep  announced  Mrs.  Surratt's  re- 
turn, and  he  turned  to  behold  her  standing  near  a  table  with  a 
small  roll  in  her  hands. 

As  he  advanced  toward  the  table,  the  woman  opened  the  roll 
upon  it,  and  displayed  a  carefully  drawn  map  of  the  Maryland 
peninsula  between  Chesapeake  bay  and  the  Potomac  river. 

The  various  roads  were  pretty  plainly  worked,  and  the  mean- 
derings  of  the  several  sluggish  streams  that  traverse  the  country 
were  indicated  by  red  lines. 

Booth  looked  the  map  over  in  eilenoe  for  several  minutes  before 
lie  ventured  an  opinion. 
;     "  It's  better  than  tbe  otker  oae.    With  that  we  would  lose  ouf 


way."  he  said,  glancing  at  Mrs.  Surratt.  "Do  you  think  we  can 
rely  entirely  on  this  map  ?" 

"  I  think  we  caa.  Mr.  Lloyd  pronounces  it  quite  accurate,  and 
I  am  willing  to  risk  his  judgment." 

"  Very  well.  I  will  accept  it  also;  "  but,"  and  Booth  smiled 
faintly,  "  it  would  not  be  pleasant  for  one  to  lose  his  way  on  the 
peninsula." 

"  It  swarms  with  our  friends,  you  know,"  replied  the  woman, 
quickly.  "  I  have  prepared  a  list  of  them  for  you.  Tou  will  find 
every  one  faithful;  no  danger  of  betrayal  by  them,  I  assure 
you." 

Booth  looked  satisfied,  but  turned  to  the  map  again. 

•'  I  wish  the  houses  of  those  friends  were  located  on  the  map," 
he  said.     "That  would  make  things  plainer,  I  think." 

•'  I  can  have  it  done." 

"Theu,  have  it  done.  It  would  please  me  better.  I  do  not  want 
to  make  a  single  misstep  in  this  matter.  I  have  been  baffled  once, 
you  know." 

Booth's  brow  darkened  as  he  finished. 

"It  was  the  first  and  last  failure,  Wilkes!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Surr 
ratt,  her  eyes  exhibiting  much  animation.  "The  next  time  we 
will  succeed.    But  what  has  become  of  your  enemy  ?  ' 

"Silas  Cantwell?  Ah!  Payne  is  watching  for  him,"  said  Booth. 
"  I  was  informed  to-day  that  he  has  been  away  from  Washington. 
Payne  says  that  he  went  south  the  day  after  the  inauguration. " 

"To  Richmond?" 

"  What  would  take  him  thither  now  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know.    I  merely  asked." 

"His  latew.xperience  there  would  not  draw  him  thither,  I'm 
thinking.  He  has  not  followed  Colonel  Opal  home,  for  that  game 
is  not  worth  Silas  Cantwell's  time.  I  wish  I  had  never  met  that 
old  Fuss-and-feathers.  His  zeal  for  the  South  is  apt  to  overbal- 
ance his  discretion.  He  doesn't  mean  wrong,  but  if  he  were  with 
me  a  week,  I  believe  we  should  he  betrayed." 

"  I  hope  he  will  remain  away,"  said  Mrs.  Surratt. 

Mrs.  Surratt  roiled  the  map  up  again,  and  was  about  to  oarry  it 
from  the  room,  when  a  peculiar  rap  startled  both  parties. 

They  exchanged  significant  looks. 

"  Were  you  looking  for  any  one  to-night? "  Booth  asked, 

"No." 

"  One  of  our  number  is  at  the  door,  for  the  signal  has  been 
given,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  cannot  think  who  it  can  be.  I  left 
Harold  in  Washington,  and  had  a  talk  with  Payne  ten  minutes  be- 
fore I  crossed  the  bridge " 

"  I'll  solve  the  mystery,"  was  the  interruptiou,  aud  Mrs.  Surratl 
left  the  room,  followed  anxiously  by  Booth's  eyes. 

The  arch  conspirator  leaned  forward  as  the  door  opened,  and 
started  when  he  heard  what  he  thought  was  a  woman's  voice. 

A  moment  later,  Mrs.  Surratt  appeared,  bearing  iu  her  arms  a 
piece  of  white  paper,  neatly  folded,  which  she  extended  toward 
Booth  as  she  reentered  the  room. 

"  Only  a  letter  for  you,"  she  said. 

"  Who  brought  it  ?"  asked  Wilkes,  as  he  took  the  proffered  note. 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  know.  It  was  placed  in  my  handji,  and  a 
voice  said  :  '  Please  give  this  to  Mr.  Booth,'  and  the  person  who 
spoke  vanished. 

A  cloud  crossed  the  actor's  face. 

"  I  don't  like  that,"  he  said,  frankly,  and  with  evident  displeas- 
ure. "  Did  you  not  notice  that  the  bearer  of  this  note  gave  our 
signal? " 

"  I  did  Wilkes,  but  pardon  me.  I  have  so  many  things  to  think 
of  now,  I  quite  forgot  my  duty." 

"We  must  be  very  careful,"  was  the  reply,  and  Booth's  fingers 
began  to  unfold  the  note. 

He  was  closely  watched  by  Mrs.  Surratt,  whoso  eyes  regarded 
his  face  more  than  the  letter. 

"Look  here;  another  fool  at  work,"  suddenly  exclaimed  Booth, 
with  anger-fiashing  eyes,  and  he  flung  the  open  paper  upon  the 
table.  "  Do  they  think  to  frighten  me  with  such  things  as  these? 
Don't  they  know  I  have  gone  too  far  to  take  a  backward  step  ?"      ! 

Mrs.  Surrat  advanced  to  where  the  paper  lay,  and  picked  it  up. 

One  look,  and  her  face  became  slightly  pale,  but  she  kept  her 
equinimity. 

What  did  she  see? 

Traced  on  the  paper,  which  was  the  half  sheet  of  a  billet  paper, 
was  a  scaffold,  from  which  suspended  a  sheriff's  noose. 

Under  the  well  drawn  instrument  of  judicial  murder  were  writr- 
ten  these  words,  in  delicate,  but  distinct,  chirography  : 

"Wilkes  Booth,  the  assassin  of  Abraham  Lincioln.    1865." 

"Letme  see  that  again!"  suddenly  cried  Booth,  taking  the 
paper  from  Mrs.  Surratt's  hand.  "That  is  a  woman's  writing. 
Can  it  be  that  she  knows  our  secret?" 

He  studied  th  inscription  for  a  moment,  and  then  sprang  to- 
ward the  door  with  it  in  his  hand. 

"  It  can't  be  Stella,"  he  exclaimed,  "for  it  isn't  her  hand-writ- 
ing.   Who,  then,  sends  this  to  me  ?     The  person   who  delivered  it 


14 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


at  the  door  a  minute  ago,  is  both  writer  and  artist.  She  can't  bi' 
faraway.  By  Jove!  if  she's  as  fair  as  Psyche,  I  will  not  fcesitau- 
to  send  her  to  Hades!" 

Mrs.  Surratt  saw  him  bound  across  the  thr-jshold  like  a  mad- 
man, leaving  her  breathless  and  alarmed  in  the  room. 

'•  Is  he  mad  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "  What  if  one  of  his  old  loves  ha.s 
discovered  the  secret,  and  threatens  to  betray  iis  all?  Great  Uod ! 
the  deepest  swamp  iu  Maryland  would  prove  no  asylum !" 

.\8  for  Booth,  he  had  already  reached  the  open  air,  and  stood 
near  a  tree,  listening,  with  his  fingei-  at  the  trigger  of  a  revolver 
he  had  drawn. 

All  at  once  he  heard  the  gallopiu;:  of  a  liorae. 

Nearer  and  nearer  it  came,  from  the  direction  of  Washington. 

Most  certainly  the  rider's  destination  was  the  house  he  had  just 
vacated. 

Without  stirring  in  his  tracks,  the  actor-assassin  listened  to  the 
hoof  beats,  which  scarcely  drowned  the  throbs  of  his  own  heart. 

Suddenly  the  horse  and  his  rider  loomed  up  before  him,  and  a 
man  lauded  on  the  ground  at  his  feet. 

"Here  I  am,"  said  Booth,  his  band  falliug  heavily  6u  the  man's 
shoulder.     "  What  brings  you  hither,  boy?" 

Before  there  was  a  reply  of  any  kind,  the  person  addressed 
started  as  if  the  hand  of  the  dead  had  touched  him. 

"By  George!  you  frightened  me,"  he  said.  "  1  have  news  for 
you,  Wilkes." 

"  Out  with  it.    Are  we  betrayed  again  ? ' 

"  No,  not  quite  that  bad,"  said  Harold,  Boolha  most  jpliant  tool 
thioughout  the  great  conspiracy. 

"Silas  Cautwell  has  come  back  to  Washington,  and  Vaul  is  with 
him." 

Booth  received  the  tidings  with  a  slight  start,  which  the  night 
kept  from  Harold's  eyes. 

"The  boy,  Paul,  eh?"  he  said.  "  So  the  young  fellow  recovered 
bis  reason,  and  Cantnell  went  to  Kii'hmond  after  all.  Payne,  I'm 
afraid,  will  find  his  hands  full  now." 

"  But  thill  is  not  all,"  said  the  messenger,  waiting  for  Booth  to 
pause.     '•  V  woman  seems  to  he  hunting  you." 

"  A  woinuii,  eh  ?     Describe  her." 

"She  is  tall  and  beautifully  fornie<l.  Her  face  I  did  not  see,  for 
she  kept  it  covered." 

"Great  God!  It  must  be  Pauline  !"  said  Booth,  half  under  his 
breath,  aud  he  crushed  the  mysterious  note  madly  in  his  hand. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

A     DARK     COMMISSION. 

For  a  moment  after  Booth's  lust  word,  there  wassilenee  between 
the  two  men. 

Suddenly,  Booth  said,  looking  into  Harold's  face: 

"Go  back  lo  Washington  at  once.  Find  Payne,  and  tell  him  to 
keep  track  of  faiitwell  and  Paul.  I  will  look  after  the  woman. 
Not  a  moment  is  lo  be  lost.    Go!" 

The  plotters  words,  spoken  in  tones  nt  signitlcance,  told  Harold 
that  no  time  was  to  be  thrown  away. 

Was  the  great  plot  on  the  eve  of  fiiilureagain? 

With  a  look  at  Booth,  the  messenger  turned  to  mount  the  steed, 
whose  bridle  rein  he  had  held  all  the  time. 

"No  grass  shall  grow  under  my  feet,"  he  said.  "I  will  find 
Payne,  and  I  will  help  him  baffle  Silas  Cantwell." 

"You?  No.  I  have  other  work  for  you.  Payne  will  be  more 
than  a  match  for  those  two  men." 

It  was  evident  that  Booth  did  not  trust  Harold  implicitly,  since 
he  admitted  Cantwell  into  the  house  on  the  avenue  the  night  that 
witnessed  the  overthrow  of  the  scheme  to  culminate  in  assassina- 
tion on  the  fourth  of  March. 

Mrs.  Surratt  had  heard  the  horse  that  had  carried  Harold  from 
Washington,  t>ut  she  had  failed  to  catch  the  conversation  which 
had  passed  between  the  two  men. 

Booth  did  uot  choose  to  relieve  her  anxiety  when  he  rejoined 
her  in  the  parlor;  on  the  contrary,  he  mystifled  her  still  more. 

"  See  that  the  map  is  ready  for  use  within  three  days,"  he  said. 
"  There's  no  telling  how  soon  it  will  come  useful." 

"  Mrs.  Surratt  gave  him  a  searching  look. 

Nothing  about  the  nocturnal  horseman  aud  his  message. 

If  it  concerned  them  and  their  plot  against  Lincoln,  why  should 
Booth  conceal  it  from  her? 

X  sudden  resolution  showed  itself  in  Mrs.  Surratt's  mien. 

"  Was  the  news  good  or  bad  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  yes;  1  had  quite  forgotten,"  answered  Booth,  starting 
slightly.  "  It  was  not  important  enough  to  have  necessitated  a 
ride  from  the  capital." 

"Who  came?" 

'*That  nervous  boy,  of  course." 

"Dave  Harold!  I  wish  we  had  never  taken  him  in,"  said  the 
woman, -bitterly.  "He's  a  chicken-hearted  coddling;  he  will 
prove  ii  in  the  end." 


"  Then,"  said  Booth,  smiling,  "  the  world  will  be  better  off  when 
he's  gone.  I  think  I'll  follow  him  back  to  the  city,"  h"  added, 
quickly.  "  There  is  nothing  here  for  me  to  do.  If  Silas  Cdutwell 
should  let iiru  w.' may  have  to  meet  him  at  once.  Yes,  I'd  better 
go  back." 

Mrs.  Surratt  did  not  try  to  detain  her  visitor,  and  he  was  per- 
mitted to  depart  without  ceremony. 

He  went  to  the  stable,  found  the  horse  he  had  ridden  from  Wash- 
ington, and  sprang  into  the  saddle,  like  a  man  eager  to  reach  a 
certain  destination  as  quickly  as  possible. 

But,  strange  to  say,  he  did  not  give  the  horse  the  rein  when 
he  was  securely  mounted,  but  allowed  him  to  move  off  at  his  own 
gait,  which  was  not  by  any  means  a  rapid  one. 

A  guilty  conscience  is  always  one's  most  persistent  accuser,  and 
Booth's  heart  must  have  told  him  that  he  was  at  the  head  of  the 
blackest  conspiracy  on  record. 

The  blood  of  Lincoln  was  to  avenge  the  South,  and  his  rest  after 
four  years  of  strife  was  to  be  the  dreamless  slumber  of  the  tomb! 

Let  us  not  attempt  to  analyze  Booth's  thoughts  as  he  rode  to- 
ward  Washington,  listening  all  the  time  for  a  footstep  iu  his  rear. 

What  they  were  is  known  only  by  He  who  reads  the  thoughts  of 
all  men,  and  by  the  assassin  himself. 

The  ten  miles  between  Surrattsville  aud  the  capital  might  have 
been  traversed  in  less  than  one  hour  by  the  horse  which  carried 
Booth  that  night,  but  something  seemed  to  hold  the  plotter  back. 

At  last,  without  accident,  he  reached  the  river,  and  the  hoofs  of 
his  horse  sounded  on  the  planks  of  the  bridge. 

Booth  did  not  hesitate,  but  gave  his  proper  name  to  the  officer 
in  charge,  and  passed  on. 

Then  for  the  first  time  since  leaving  Surrattsville  he  seemed  to 
regain  his  old-time  spkits,  for  he  urged  the  horse  forward,  and 
was  borne  rapidly  across  the  bridge. 

"  Well,  I'm  back  again.  Now  for  work  1"  fell  from  his  lips  when 
he  fouud  himself  among  the  suburbs  of  the  capital  proper  once 
inore.  "  Harold  isn't  much  ahead  of  me,  and  I  doubt  if  he  has  yet 
tound  Payne." 

Turning  to  the  left  Booth  soon  tound  himself  on  Pennsylvania 
avenue,  but  he  soon  afterward  guided  his  steed  into  a  narrow 
street,  and  thence  dowu  an  alley  which  was  quite  dark. 

He  knew  exactly  where  he  was,  for  when  he  drew  rein  he  leaned 
to  one  side  and  opened  a  stable-door,  after  which   he   dismounted.    ' 
and  led  the  auimal  inside. 

Passing  thiough  the  stable  without  unsaddling  the  horse  in  the 
darkness,  the  assassin  entered  a  backyard,  across  which  he  ad- 
vanced  toward  a  house,  whose  outlines  were  plainly  visible. 

Not  until  he  had  c'limbed  an  outside  stairway  and  entered  the 
house  ou  the  second  floor  did  Booth  pause,  and  then  he  found  him- 
self in  asmall  but  well-furnished  room,  whose  gloom  he  had  re- 
lieved by  lighting  the  gas. 

A  breath  indicative  of  satisfaction  escaped  him  as  he  began 
to  divest  himself  of  the  outer  coat  he  bad  worn  during  his 
journey. 

As  he  unbuttoned  it  something  fell  to  the  floor. 

Booth  stooped  quickly  and  picked  it  up. 

"That  accursed  bit  of  paper,"  he  said,  fiercely,  seeing  the  out- 
lines of  a  scaffold  on  the  paper.  "  I  thought  I  had  destroyed  it.  I 
wonder  how  it  got  under  my  joat?  Well,  I'll  make  short  work  of 
it  now." 

So  saying,  he  strode  across  the  room  to  the  gas  jet,  iu  which  he 
held  the  warning  until  it  was  entirely  consumed. 

"There!"  he  exclaimed,  stepping  back.  "  Burned  papers,  like 
dead  men,  tell  no  tales.  Now.  my  dear  Pauline,  it  is  my  request 
that  you  trouble  me  no  more  with  such  documents.  There  is  but 
one  woman  beside  my  mother  for  whom  I  care  a  whit,  and  she  is 
not  near.  Stella,  ah  !  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  you  ?  Well  do 
I  know  that  you  love  Wilkes  Booth ;  that  you  would  give  your 
life  to  turn  him  from  his  purpose.  But  the  sacrifice  would  avail  ; 
you  naught.  While  I  am  wedded  to  the  task  of  avenging  the  j 
South,  I  cannot  think  of  you,  Stella,  more  than  for  a  moment."         j 

He  turned  away  and  sprung  to  the  door,  but  before  he  could    I 
touch  the  knob  it  opened,  and  he  confronted  a  man.  j 

"Ha!    Payne,"    ejaculated  Booth;  "how    did    you  know   that    I 
1  was  back?"  | 

'  I  saw  your  horse  in  the  stall." 

"  Did  you  get  Harold's  message?" 

••  Yes." 

"Well?" 

"I'll  attend  to  it.  They're  both  here,"  and  Payne's  eyes  glis- 
tened. "I  now  know  what  took  Cantwell  from  Washington.  He 
went  to  Richmoud  to  find  Paul,  who  has  been  delirious  in  the 
hospital  evirsiuce  the  Confederate  guards  shot  him  the  night  he 
attempted  to  escape.  I  think  he'll  soon  wish  he  had  not  recovered 
his  reason." 

"  Can  you  attend  to  both  of  them  ?"  asked  Booth,  eagerly. 

"  I  can.    Look !"  and  Payne  laid  a  new  bowie  knife  on  the  table. 


THE  WA.R  LIBRARY. 


15 


"You  see  I've  exoliauged  my  broken  blade  for  a  whole  uiu  .  i  i. 
next  time  I  will  hit  Silas  Cantwell  where  steel  does  uot  proteot- 
him.  With  that  knife  I  could  fight  my  way  through  the  czar's 
guards  to  the  throne  itself." 

That  terrible  knife  was  enough  to  make  one  shudder;  but  Booth 
manifested  no  emotion  while  he  gazed  upon  it. 

It  was  a  dirk  which  had  become  historical,  for  with  it  Lewis 
Payne  afterward  cut  his  way  to  Secretary  Seward's  bedside, 

Not  until  the  big  shouldered  thug  had  put  up  his  knife  did  the 
men  speak  agaiu. 

•■  You  may  hear  good  news  within  the  next  forty-eleht  hours," 
said  Payne,  looking  at  Booth. 

••  Will  you  be  the  bearer  of  itV" 

"  1  expect  to  be,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  wish  one  thing,  Wilkes, 
that  Colonel  Opal  would  go  home." 

Booth  started,  and  let  an  exclamation  of  anger  fall  from  his 
tongue. 

"  Is  he  here  yet  ?" 

••  Yes.  I  had  difflculty  in  avoiding  him  to-night.  He's  been 
hanging  around  the  old  quarters.  It  the  authorities  would  arrest 
him  he'd  give  the  whole  thing  away,  for  Colonel  Baker  could 
frighten  him  out  of  his  wits." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

Booth  buttoned  his  coat  after  the  question. 

"  I'll  read  him  a  lecture  he'll  never  forget,"  he  contiuued,  mad- 
ly.   "  I  wish  I  had  never  met  the  old  fool." 

"  Leave  him  to  me  also,"  said  Payne,  with  a  Bignifleant  look. 

"  Don't  kill  him,  Payne." 

'•Oh,  I'll  not  shed  a  drop  of  his  blood,"  laughed  Booth's  associate, 
his  dark  eyes  twiukling.  "  I  think  I  know  how  to  deal  with  the 
over  Zealous  old  codger.  He'll  be  on  the  jump  toward  Richmond 
before  daylight  if  I  can  And  him,  and  I  think  lean." 

Payne  moved  toward  the  door  as  he  concluded,  said  "  good- 
night "  to  Booth,  and  was  gone. 

He  was  followed  by  a  person  whose  feet  gave  forth  no  sound  as 
they  glided  over  the  ground,  and  that  pel-son  was  a  woman  ! 

If  Booth  hai"  known  that  his  right  hand  man  was  so  closely 
watched,  would  he  have  remained  (juiet  in  that  upper  room  7 

If  he  coulil  have  seen  that  woman's  face  he  would  have  clinched 
his  hands  and  leaped  upon  her  like  a  tiger. 

He  would  have  said  : 

•'  PauliuK,  you  have  followed  me  to  Washington  to  die!  Nobody 
.ihall  baffle  me  any  more." 

But  he  dill  not  see  her,  and  Payne  kept  on  with  the  tireless, 
watchful  woman  at  his  heels. 

She  did  not  seem  to  fear  him,  and  yet  she  must  have  known  that 
she  was  ou  a  human  tiger's  trail. 

CHAPTKU   XUl. 

A    \'IROIN'lA    liOOD-BY. 

"  This  isn't  Richmond,  boy.  This  is  the  old  capital  over  which 
waves  the  stars  and  stripes.  You're  back  in  the  old  quarters  we 
left  almost  a  year  ago.  Now,  when  you  have  rested,  we  will  get 
to  work  again.  ' 

"I  feel  rested  now,  Leon.  I  am  ready  to  help  baffle  Wilkes 
Booth,  or  any  person  who  plots  against  our  president.  Do  you 
think  he  still  harbors  his  wild  schemes?" 

"He?  There's  no  telling  what  is  in  Wilkes  Booth's  head  to- 
night. He's  possessed  himself  of  the  insane  idea  that  the  South 
must  be  avenged,  and  that  he  is  the  man  to  deal  the  avenging 
blow.  He  is  not  aloue  in  the  plot.  The  man  who  attempted  my 
life  at  the  foot  of  the  stair  leading  to  Booth's  lodgings  is  a  fair- 
sample  of  the  dejsperate  characters  he  has  made  his  tools.  That 
man  is  an  assassin  by  nature.  Auy  jierson  who  would  throttle  a 
woman  and  row  her  into  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  cast  her  into 
the  current,  would  not  hesitate  to  kill  a  man.  Do  you  think  he 
would,  Paul?" 

"Of  course  he  would  not,  but  who  did  this  miscreant  serve  in 
the  manner  yon  have  descril)ed  ?" 

"You  may  learu  by  and  by,"  was  the  unsatisfactory  answer,  as 
the  speaker,  Cantwell.  the  war  detective,  looked  from  the  window 
at  which  he  sat.  "I  i-an  assure  you,  Paul,  that  it  was  not  Pauline; 
but  I  was  going  on  l.isiy  about  this  Payne,  or  Powell,  as  he  is 
sometimes  called,  that  Im- will  be  on  the  alert  for  our  return  tu 
Washington.    He  may  know  already  that  we  have  arrived." 

"Then,  you  believe  that  Booth  and  his  friends  are  still  here'i' " 

"  I  know  it.  I  had  scarcely  crossed  the  bridge  to-night  ere  1  saw 
the  young  fool  Booth  is  dragging  with  him  to  the  .scaffold— Dave 
Harold.  Of  course  they're  all  here.  Yon  no  sooner  break  one  egg 
of  treason  than  another  one  is  laid." 

"  Do  you  think  they  will  carry  on  the  same  old  plot?"  asked 
Paul. 

-'  Yes,  with  some  slight  modifications.  Booth,  I  am  sure,  will  at- 
tempt to  take  the  president's  life  in  person.  He  will  not  let  any 
of  his  associates  do  that.    Work  has  been  laid  out  for  Payne,  but 


just  what  it  is,  no  one  l>eyond  the  conspirators'  circle  knows.  Wa 
will  find  out,  though ;  you  can  depend  on  this,  Paul." 

"  I  wish  we  could  begin  to-night." 

Cantwell  did  not  reply. 

He  had  returned  to  Washington,  but  not  aloue. 

Having  baffled  Booth,  and  prevented  him  from  attempting  Lin- 
coln's life  on  the  day  of  his  inaugural,  he  had  made  his  way  to 
Richmond  in  search  of  Paul,  who  had  never  reached  Colonel 
Baker  with  the  important  message  intrusted  to  his  care. 

Cantwell  was  much  attached  to  the  young  man,  who  had  served 
him  so  faithfully,  aud  he  was,  moreover,  desirous  of  having  him 
share  in  the  anticipated  triumph  over  Booth  and  his  fellow 
plotters. 

We  need  not  record  the  war  detective's  adventures  in  the  Con- 
federate capital,  but  will  say  that  he  found  Paul  still  in  the  hospi- 
tal, and  almost  recovered  from  the  wound  received  from  the 
guard,  by  whom  he  was  being  conducted  to  Beauregard's  head- 
quarters when  he  attempted  to  escape. 

The  wounds  received  on  that  occasion  had  deprived  him  of  rea- 
son for  a  time,  but  when  Cantwell  reached  Richmond  he  was  him- 
self again,  and  the  twain  managed  to  reach  Washington  without 
being  arrested. 

Thus  it  was  that  we  find  them  together  in  the  detective's  old 
ight  that  witnessed  the  events  of  the  foregoing 


quarters  o 
chapter. 
"What  has  become  of  Pauline — do  you  know? 


suddenly  asked 


Paul. 

"No,  I  do  not,  but  she  will  find  us,  or  we  will  discover  her  some 
time,"  was  the  answer. 

The  next  moment  Cantwell  started  and  placed  his  face  nearer 
the  window  pane. 

"  Wait  for  me  here.  On  no  account  stir  from  this  room  till  I  re^ 
turn." 

Before  the  young  man  could  question  him,  he  was  gone. 

When  Cantwell  reached  the  sidewalk,  he  looked^out  upon  the 
broad  avenue  for  a  moment,  and  then  hastened  toward  the  White 
House. 

"  I  could  not  have  been  mistaken,"  he  said,  to  himself.  "  I  saw 
them  but  for  a  moment,  and  my  eyes  seldom  deceive  me.  What! 
has  Pauline  turned  tracker  in  the  same  drama  I  am  interested  in? 
I  used  to  tell  her  in  Richmond  that  she  would  make  a  good  spy ; 
now  I  know  it." 

As  the  detective  kept  on,  his  keen  eyes  saw  everybody  whom  he 
met  and  passed. 

On,  on  he  went,  nor  paused  until  the  street  lamps  enabled  him 
to  see  the  trees  that  grew  in  front  of  the  presidential  mansion. 

"Halt!  Cantwell,"  ho  said,  to  himself,  in  low  tones,  stopping 
at  that  moment  under  one  of  the  trees.  "It  I  am  not  mistaken, 
I've  caught  sight  of  a  gentleman  with  whom  I  am  slightly  ac- 
quainted." 

The  detective's  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  sarcastic  manner, 
while  his  eyes  remained  fixed  on  two  men  who  were  slowly  ap- 
proaching him  from  toward  the  White  House  itself. 

One  of  the  men  was  six  feet  tall,  and  quite  portly.  The  other 
was  not  so  large,  although  he  possessed  shoulders  of  ample 
breadth,  and  looked  as  strong  as  a  lion. 

"Yes,  sir,  you've  got  to  get  out  of  Washington  before  sunrise," 
the  man  last  described  said  to  the  other.      "  The  whole  plot  is  in 
the  hands  of  the  police.  ' 
"Great  God!  no!" 

"  It's  a  disastrous  fact,  '  was  the  cold  rejoinder.  "  Colonel  Baker 
has  been  furnished  with  a  list  of  names  from  which  to  make  ar- 
rests. Somebody's  going  to  swing,  I'm  afraid,  colonel.  We've 
blundered  somewhere  along  the  line." 

"Blundered?  Who's  blundered?"  stammered  the  giant,  who 
was,  as  the  reader  has  guessed  ere  this,  our  old  acquaintance, 
Colonel  Lovelace  Opal.  "  You  don't  mean  to  accuse  me  of  giring 
the  thing  away?" 

"  Heaven  knows  who's  peached,"  was  the  reply.  "  We're  got  to 
fly  or  swing.     You  can   take  your  choice,  colonel.     I've    taken 

"Where  are  yougoingl" 

"Me?    I  wouldn't  tell  ray  mother.     You  must  go,  too." 

"I  will." 

"  You  must  go  to-night." 

"I  shall.    By  George!  I  didn't  come  to  Washington  to  be  hung." 

"  You  were  in  a  good  way  for  it,  prowling  around  the  White 
House.     Why,  this  would  bo  evidence  enough  to  draw  you  up." 

"  Great  heavens !  I  should  say  it  would.  I  never  thought  of 
that.  I  happened  to  be  strolling  along  the  avenue,  and  curiosity 
directed  my  steps  into  the  park.    What's  become  of  Wilkes  ?" 

Cantwell  held  his  breath  as  he  leaned  forward  to  catch  the  reply. 

"You  don't  think  he's  in  Washington,  I  hope?  He'd  be  a  fool 
to  remain  here  now,"  were  the  words  that  rewarded  him. 

Colonel  Opal  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  cross  the  bridge?"  he  aaked,  suddenly. 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


"ItisBofeyet.  To-morrow  twill  be  death  to  attempt  the  pas- 
sage." 

"My  Grod!  you  chill  the  marrow  of  my  bones!"  cried  thecolonel. 
"When  I  get  back  to  Richmond,  I'll  stay  at  home.  I  was  a  fool 
for  coming  here  iu  the  first  place." 

"I  think  so,  too." 

"  What's  that,  sir?"  Sashed  the  colonel,  angrily. 

Payne  stopped  the  Southerner,  and  faced  him  with  the  mein  of 
I'  bulying  rough. 

1  ••  I  mean  what  I've  said.  You've  got  ti>  go  South  right  away. 
*,  .'e  want  no  traitors  here.  Swear  to  me  on  this  spot  that  you  will 
iross  the  Potomac  to-night,  not  to  return  without  our  permis- 
sion, or  I'll  apply  a  remedy  that  will  forever  silence  your  raving 


Cantwell  saw,  and  (lie  colonel  did,  too,  the  long  dirk  that  left  its 
hiding  place  as  the  last  words  fell  from  Payne's  lips. 

The  detective  prepared  to  spring  forward. 

"Go  to  Richmond,  or  receive  the  length  of  this!"  hissed  Payne, 
in  tones  well  calculated  lo  cow  even  a  courageous  man.  "  I  am  a 
man  of  action,  as  well  as  words,  colonel.  I've  carried  my  life  in 
my  hands  for  many  years,  but  you  shall  not  consign  all  of  us  to 
the  gallows.    To  Richmond !" 

Colonel  Opal  recoiled  a  step  as  the  blade  gleamed  in  his  face. 

"I  go  I o  Richmond,  but  first  take  this,  scoundrel!"  he  said,  and 
the  next  sei-ond,  before  Payne  could  prepare  for  what  was  com- 
ing, his  right  hand  shot  forward  with  the  force  of  a  stone  hurled 
from  a  catapult. 

"  Now  I  can  go  to  Richmond  with  a  clear  conscience,"  said  the 
Southerner,  gazing  for  a  moment  upon  the  form  of  his  victim.  "  I 
never  exposed  their  jjlot.  He  trumped  up  a  lie  in  order  to  get  to 
kill  me.  By  Heaven!  I  hope  the  Yankee  government  will  choke 
him  first  when  it  begins  to  hang.  Now  for  Richmond,  colonel.  It 
will  be  a  rainy  day  when  you  set  foot  in  Washington  again." 

"  That's  a  sound  resolve,"  said  a  voice  that  made  the  colonel 
start  back. 

"  My  God  !  who  are  you  ?"  he  gasped. 

Cantwell  stood  before  him. 

"  I'm  a  gentleman  who  wishes  you  to  keep  that  resolution,"  re- 
plied the  detective.  "  I  thank  you  for  the  blow  you  dealt  to-night. 
One  of  its  magnitude  was  never  more  deserved.  There'll  be  a  big 
hanging  spree  here  before  long  unless  some  human  devils  are 
thwarted.  Rebel  though  you  are,  colonel,  I  don't  want  to  see  you 
stretch  hemp,  for  I've  had  some  pleasant  times  with  you." 

"  Silas  Cantwell!"  ejaculated  the  colonel. 

"  Yes,  Silas  Cantwell,  the  Yankee  agent,  whom  you  met  in  Rich- 
mond," smiled  Cantwell.  "  Go  home  at  once.  When  that  Tillain 
on  the  grass  recovers  he'll  want  more  blood  than  even  you  can 
furnish." 

"  I'm  off,  Cantwell— off  for  Richmond." 

Colonel  Opal  turned  away  as  he  finished,  and  the  war  dete<'tive 
did  not  detain  him. 

A  moment  later  Cantwell  was  left  alone. 

After  a  hasty  but  searching  glance  around,  he  approached  Payne, 
who  had  fallen  in  a  deep  shadow,  and  lay  with  his  already  swollen 
face  upturned  to  the  leaves. 

Stooping  over  him  the  detective  searched  his  pockets  carefully, 
but  discovered  no  papers  of  any  kind. 

"  A  murderer  by  profession,  he  carries  no  damaging  papers  on  his 
person,"  said  Cantwell,  relinquishiug  the  search.  "He  won't 
know  himself  when  he  consults  a  mirror.  Thanks  to  Colonel  Opal's 
muscle,"  and  smiling  to  himself,  the  detective  turned  from  the 
spot  and  walked  toward  the  avenue. 

He  would  have  smiled  just  the  same  if  the  big  Virginian'e  blow 
had  kihed  the  desperado  of  the  capital. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE       QUAKREL. 

"  Thanks  to  Colonel  Opal's  muscle,"  as  Cantwell  has  remarked, 
Lewis  Payne's  face  presented  anything  but  a  handsome  appear- 
ance when  he  entered  Booth's  presence  the  next  day  and  dropped 
into  a  chair  with  a  mad  growl. 

At  first  the  chief  plotter  against  the  president  did  not  recognize 
his  associate,  but  the  curses  which  Payne  begun  to  heap  upon  the 
Virginian's  head  served  to  make  him  known. 

Booth  ventured  the  remark  that  Payne  had  had  a  renconter 
with  some  one  who  possessed  a  good  deal  of  power. 

"Power?  My  soul!  I  should  remark!"  grated  the  desperado. 
"  I've  been  hit  by  that  Virginia  fool  whom  I  thought  too  cowarldv 
to  lift  his  hand  against  a  boy.  He's  got  a  fist  like  a  trip-ham  mer. 
and  he  knows  how  to  wield  it,  too.  This  is  what  I  get  for  orderin;: 
him  back  to  Richmond.  I  asked  him  to  choose  between  the  Con- 
federate capital  and  my  new  knife,  and  he  chose  the  former;  but 
not  until  he  had  knocked  me  through  the  whole  planetary  sys- 
tem." 

Booth  smiled  slightly,  and  allowed  Payne  to  run  on. 


"  Won't  I  pay  him  back  for  that  blow,  though!"  cried  the  vil- 
lain, grating  his  teeth  ;  "  won't  I  make  him  wish  that  he  had  never 
lifted  his  hand  against  me !  I  have  not  done  with  Colonel  Opal. 
He  will  not  have  to  come  back  to  Washington  to  see  me.  I'd  go  a 
thousand  miles  to  settle  with  the  smasher." 

"  When  will  you  do  it,  Payne  ?"  asked  Booth. 

"When  we  have  finished  our  work,"  was  the  reply.  "Don*, 
think  that  I'm  going  to  throw  up  our  scheme  just  to  get  to  punish 
that  cowardly  F.  F.  V.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Ottr  work  first,  Wilkes; 
then  my  private  revenge." 

"That's  right;  but  what  have  youfound  out  aboutCantwell  and 
Paul?" 

"  Nothing  as  yet.  I  suffered  with  this  face  of  mine  all  last  night; 
suffered  a  thousand  deaths.  I  ve  been  hit  before,  Wilkes,  but 
never  by  a  sledge  hammer  at  the  end  of  a  man's  arm.  I've  not 
forgotten  the  detective;  don't  think  so  for  a  moment.  I  am  be- 
ginning to  look  presentable  again,  am  I  not  ?" 

One  eye  was  still  nearly  shut,  and  his  right  cheek  was  swollen 
and  wore  a  dark  bluish  hue. 

"By  Jove!  I  could  confront  Cantwell  by  daylight  and  he 
wouldn't  know  me,  eh,  Wilkes  ?"  he  suddenly  exclaimed. 

"  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  risk  it.  Silas  Cantwell,  as  they  call 
him,  has  keen  eyes." 

"  We  all  know  that ;  but  he  won't  be  looking  for  Lewis  Payne 
with  his  face  bunged  up  in  this  manner.  I  wouldn't  be  afraid  to 
risk  it.    Where's  David  ?" 

"  I  sent  him  across  the  river  on  an  errand  this  morning." 

"To  Lloyd's?" 

"  Yes ;  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

Payne  did  not  reply  for  a  moment. 

He  took  a  hasty  turn  acro.'js  the  room,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window  upon  the  avenue  below. 

"  I  wouldn't  care  if  he  never  came  back,"  he  suddenly  growled. 

'•  You  don't  like  the  boy?"  said  Booth.     "Do  you  .suspect  him?" 

"No,  I  don't;  but  he's  chicken-hearted,"  was  the  plain  response. 
"I  don't  say  that  Dave  Harold  will  betray  us,  but  he's  not  got  the 
grit  to  face  real  danger  when  it  comes.  He  thinks  there's  nobody 
In  the  world  like  you,  Wilkes  ;  he's  learned  all  your  favorite  the- 
atrical pieces  just  to  please  you,  as  he  thinks ;  but  he's  a  boy  whose 
beard  hasn't  grown  yet  for  all  that.  Do  you  think  that  Dave  Har- 
old's the  right  man  to  be  with  us  in  this  scheme  ?" 

Booth's  eyes  flashed  indignantly  at  the  plain  question. 

A  man  whom  he  had  made  his  confederate  had  dared  to  criticise 
his  choice  of  associates. 

Booth's  haughty  spirits  were  stirred  to  their  depths. 

"  I  am  responsible  for  Harold's  connection  with  the  scheme,"  he 
said,  loosing  Payne  squarely  in  the  face  and  speaking  iu  i  .  ■  .  .n.-- 
of  a  master.  "  When  I  selected  him,  I  asked  the  advice  of  nouiic. 
You  may  not  like  him.  I  cannot  help  that.  Your  prejudice  may 
arise  from  the  fact  that  I  did  not  consult  you  when  he  was 
chosen." 

"Have  1  saic  so/"  demanded  Payne,  madly  returning  Booth's 
look  with  interest. 

"No;  but  your  words  and  your  manner  led  me  to  think  so.  I 
have  the  good  of  the  South  ever  uppermost  in  my  mind.  I  first 
conceived  the  scheme  which  I  am  going  to  carry  out  it  it  costs  me 
all  my  blood.  I  have  called  Harold  to  my  side  because  I  can 
mould  him  to  any  purpose.  The  fellow  is  pliable  and  obedient.  I 
cannot  help  it  that  you  do  not  fancy  him." 

"  I  might  take  a  uotion  to  withdraw  from  the  plot,"  threatened 
Payne. 

Booth  started  visibly. 

What!  his  right  hand  man  leave  him  at  that  important  junc- 
ture? 

Deserted  by  Payne,  what  would  not  Cantwell  be  able  to  do  in 
ferreting  out  the  gigantic  conspiracy  against  the  Union  ? 

Booth  looked  deep  into  Payne's  eyes. 

He  could  not  believe  that  the  man  really  intended  to  desert 
blm.  but  he  resolved  not  to  yield  to  him. 

So  he  beat  down  his  fears,  and  said  : 

"  You  are  at  liberty  to  withdraw.  I  shall  attempt  to  hold  no 
o»>6.    I  shall  reach  the  goal,  if  I  have  to  reach  it  alone." 

The  reply  told  Payne  that  Booth's  resolution  was  of  the  kind 
that  cannot  be  changed. 

With  a  glowering  look  he  moved  to  the  door. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  to  favor  me  again,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand 
on  the  knob.  "  You  may  have  to  reach  the  goal  without  Lewis 
Payne.  I  want  no  boys  in  a  plot  with  me.  This  is  no  foolish 
scheme.  It  is  the  darkest,  riskiest  plot  men  ever  dabbled  in.  It  is 
against  the  ruler  of  twenty  millions  of  people  every  one  of  whom 
loves  him.  Think  of  it,  Wilkes.  You  keep  in  your  employ  :i 
beardless  boy  while  you  plot  against  President  Lincoln." 

Booth  was  silent. 

"  I  don't  ask  you  to  change  your  mind.  Once  since  you  left 
Richmond  I  saved  your  life.  The  whole  scheme  was  on  the  eve 
at  betrayal,    A  certain  person  went  to  the  White  House  one  night 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


17 


and  begged  to  be  adiiiitted  to  LiiiiMilus  presence;  for  what?  To 
give  the  whole  plot  away.  I  happened  to  be  where  I  oould  aid 
you,  Wilkes.  That  peraou  was  to  have  returned  the  next  day,  but 
there  was  no  return.  Why  not  ?  Because  that  night  a  boat  was 
rowed  out  into  the  Potomac,  ^nd  a  human  body  dropped  from  It 
into  the  current  which  tells  no  tales  of  betrayal. 

"  Of  course  I  thank  you,  Payne,"  said  Booth.  "Now  let  mehear 
the  name  of  the  would-be  betrayer." 

Lewis  Payne  did  not  speak. 

He  seemed  to  move  nearer  the  door. 

"  Who  was  he  ?"  persisted  the  actor. 

"No!  Tou  will  not  let  Harold  jro,  and  I  i>an  keep  my  .seoret," 
was  the  answer,  as  the  door  opened. 

"Good  afternoon,  Wilkes.  I  wisli  you  success,  but  you  will 
please  excuse  Lewis  Payne  from  all  future  service  in  the  scheme." 

As  the  last  word  died  away,  the  door  shut  in  Booth's  face,  and 
the  footsteps  that  went  down  the  stairs  told  him  that  Payne,  his 
riRht  hand  man,  was  gone. 

"Let  hira  go!"  he  suddenly  exclaimed.  "I  am  not  going  to 
knuckle  to  a  man  like  Lewis  Payne.  I  am  ready  to  move  to  my 
goal  alone,  with  the  avenging  pistol  in  my  hand.  He  is  only  doins 
what  Mr*.  Surratt  said  he  might  do  iu  a  passion.  She  has  warned 
me  of  lliis  outbreak  of  mutiny.  Colonel  Opal's  blow  has  mad- 
denefl  li  1111.  and  he  had  to  take  his  spite  out  on  someone.  He  has 
chosen  Harold  as  his  victim,  but  I  will  not  dismiss  the  young  man, 
not  even  it  I  lose  Payne  by  clinging  to  him.  He  will  cool  down 
before  niglit.  He  will  whimper  at  my  feet  again,  and  beg  me  to 
forget  this  scene.  But  if  he  does  not,  1  will  carry  out  my  schemes 
without  him.  I  have  sworn  to  kill  the  man  in  the  White  House, 
and  a  hundred  desertions  shall  not  balk  me!" 

Booth  stepped  to  the  window  as  he  let  the  last  word  fall  from 
his  lips,  and  gazed  down  upon  the  street  below. 

All  at  once  his  eyes  seemed  to  emit  sparks  of  fire,  and  stepping 
back  he  snatched  a  revolver  from  the  table. 

Then  he  leaped  to  the  window  again  and  threw  up  the  sagh. 

At  that  moment  an  open  carriage,  guarded  by  a  little  troop  of 
cavalry  appeared  opposite  the  window. 

The  occupants  of  the  vehicle  were  Mr.  Lincohi  and  his  son.  Tad, 
on  their  way  to  the  capitoi. 

What  an  opportunity  for  Booth  to  do  his  terril>le  work ! 

But  he  lowered  the  revolver  which  he  had  suddenly  raised 
against  the  president,  and  watched  the  carriage  roll  on. 

"Not  now,"  he  said.  "  A  few  more  days,  Mr.  Lincoln,  aud  the 
imperious  North  will  kneel  at  your  bloody  bier." 

That  was  prophecy. 

CHAPTER    XV. 

A     TOUCHING      APPEAL. 

Did  Payne  come  back  to  the  ambitions  man  he  had  sworn  to  aid 
in  the  blackest  plot  that  stains  the  page  of  history? 

Before  we  answer  this  question,  let  us  look  upon  a  scene  which 
should  have  turned  the  murderer's  feet  from  his  victim,  and 
iiiove<l  a  heart  of  stone. 

More  than  one  journey  Booth  made  alone  to  Surrattsville  during 
the  days  that  followed  his  exciting  scene  with  Payne. 

He  met  more  than  one  person  under  the  roof  of  Lloyd's  hotel. 

There  came  to  him  persons  whose  names  were  heralded  to  the 
world  m  tlie  last  smoke  of  the  rel>ellion. 

There  were  sc<-rct  conferences  at  night  under  that  roof,  maps 
were  exaraim-il,  roads  traced  with  the  fingers,  and  questions  asked 
and  answereil. 

What  did  it  all  mean? 

Simply  that  Wilkes  Booth  was  at  work. 

Not  for  a  single  moment  had  lii>  aliaiidone..  tlie  wild  scheme 
born  into  his  imaginative  brain. 

Payne,  the  desperado,  had  deserted  him,  but  what  of  that? 

There  were  others  who  hated  Abraham  Lincoln  and  his  cause 
enough  to  help  him  in  an  assassination  plot. 

He  still  had  Harold,  Mrs.  Surratt,  and  kindred  spirits  at  his  beck 
and  call. 

These  were  not  all. 

Other  persons  had  been  found  and  drilled  in  the  work  he  had 
sworn  to  accomplish. 

Hehad  f(nindiii  Alzcrott,  John  Surratt,  O  Laughlin  and  Span- 
Kler  men  to  liis  purpose  quite. 

Payne  only  was  lacking  to  complete  the-infaraous  cabal. 

Since  that  villain's  withdrawal,  the  great  war  drama  had  been 
played  almost  to  its  close. 

Grant,  the  first  captain  of  the  age,  had  forced  the  army  of 
northern  Virginia  to  Its  last  resources,  and  the  whole  North  had 
been  electrified  by  news  of  Lee's  surrender. 

As  the  first  gun  of  the  rebellion  had  been  flred  in  April,  that 
month  was  also  to  witness  the  end. 

As  the  first  blood  shed  had  crimsoned  the  grass  of  early  spring, 


the  last  and  best  blood  of  all  was  to  reddsn  the  first  sweet  flowers 
of  the  year. 

What  a  day  it  was  for  the  whole  land ! 

The  greatest  civil  war  of  modern  times  was  over. 

Already  the  men  who  had  faced  one  another  for  four  years  were 
turning  their  faces  homeward,  comingback  to  their  old  avooations, 
beating  their  weapons  of  warfare  into  the  implements  of  peace. 

It  was  the  day  for  which  the  millions  had  yearned,  for  which 
the  eyes  of  nation  had  looked  through  the  smoke  of  battle. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  twelfth  of  April  in  Washington. 

Seated  in  a  room,  whose  windows  overlooked  the  brilliant  ave- 
nue, was  a  man  whose  handsome  features  were  pale  and  some- 
what careworn. 

He  was  the  only  occupant  of  the  place,  as  the  gas-jet  showed, 
and  he  had  drawn  the  curtains  as  it  he  did  not  wish  to  be  noticed 
from  the  street. 

He  was  in  the  act  of  writing,  when  a  footfall,  just  beyond  the 
door  that  faced  him,  fell  upon  his  ears  and  attracted  him. 

"Stella!" 

A  beautiful  girl  crossed  the  threshold,  with  her  large,  sad  eyes 
riveted  on  his  face. 

"  Wilkes!  "  she  said,  "you  were  not  looking  for  me,  1  know;  but 
I  could  not  remain  away  any  longer." 

The  man— Wilkes  Booth— did  not  speak  for  a  minute,  during 
which  time  he  closed  the  door,  and  stepped  toward  his  visitor. 

"No,  I  was  not  looking  for  you,  Stella,"  he  said.  "I  did  not 
dream  that  you  were  in  Washington.    When  did  you  arrive  ?" 

The  girl  smiled  faintly. 

"  I  have  been  here  a  longtime,"  she  said  ;  "  almost  ever  since  you 
left  Richmond." 

Resentment  lighted  up  Booth's  eyes. 

"  You  have  not  been  watching  me,  have  you?"  he  asked.  "  Stel- 
la, this  is  not  womanly." 

"  I  know  it,  but  I  have  not  watched  you  in  the  sense  of  being  a 
spy.  Wilkes,  you  know  what  I  have  told  you  more  than  once.  The 
strength  of  giants  could  not  have  kept  me  away  to-night..  My 
God!  I  dream  of  the  awful  vortex  lulo  which  you  aie  about  tr 
plunge.  Yon  have  not  abandoned  that  terrible  scheme;  you  still 
move  on  toward  utter  ruin,  and  the  everlasting  condemnation  of 
the  North." 

Booth  started,  and  recalled  the  circumstances  under  whicli  he 
had  read  the  last  words  to  the  beautiful  being  before  him. 

"  I  court  that  condemnation,"  he  suddenly  cried.  "It  will  not 
kill  a  man  like  me." 

"  But  it  will  blight  our  future  lives.  Oh  !  Wilkes,  you  must  turn 
back.  The  war  is  over  now  ;  the  South  submits,  aud  the  Cnufed- 
frate  soldiers  even  rejoice  that  the  doors  of  the  modern  teiuplo  of 
James  are  closed.  Peace  willeoon  reunite' the  sections, aud  .-lery- 
body  will  bo  happy  again." 

Booth  looked  away  as  it  a  mental  struggle  was  taking  place  in 
his  mind. 

"Wilkes,  Ifc.  the  future  be  for  us,"  conlinued  .Stella,  belit  ?ing 
that  she  had  moved  the  plotter.  "The  death  of  the  president  you 
hate  will  do  no  good.  I  plead  for  his  life  because  I  love  you,  be- 
cause I  have  given  you  all  the  love  that  ever  animated  my  bosom. 
Let  your  wild  oath  be  blown  into  oblivion  by  the  winds.  Fame 
and  fortune  iu  other  fields  are  yours.  I  will  rejoice  to  see  the  man 
1  love  the  greatest  actor  on  the  American  stage.  Listen  to  me, 
Wilkes.  Dismiss  the  men  you  have  gathered  about  you.  Tell 
them  that  peace  has  disarmed  you;  tell  them  that  the  president 
shall  live.     Wilkes,  Wilkes,  will  you  not  do  this?" 

The  fair  white  hand  of  the  girl  was  on  Booth's  arm,  and  liei-  eyes 
were  fixed  ou  his  darkeuiug  countenance. 

"  By  Heaven  !  girl,  you  ask  too  much,  and  you  appeal  to  me  too 
late!"  heeaid.    "Imustgoon.    The  die  is  cast.    I " 

A  sound  like  a  wail  of  despair  from  Stella  interrupted  him. 

"There  are  other  loves  than  mine  that  appeal  to  yon— thiuk  of 
them,"  she  cried.  "Your  mother  stands  between  you  and  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  your  sister's  love  appeals " 

"There!"  and  Booth  pushed  the  girl  away.  "Don't  mention 
my  mother  here.  lam  not  going  to  be  turned  from  my  purpose 
by  such  means  as  these.  The  South  must  bo  avenged  !  The  blood 
of  the  Northern  president  shall  stain  the  laurel  wreath  he  wears 
to-night.  Oalhshavo  been  taken  which  cannot  be  broken,  and 
pledges  made  which  hell  cannot  rive  assunder.  Girl,  you  appeal 
to  a  heart  of  stone.  You  come  to  me  on  the  very  eve  of  the  great 
work,  and  ask  me  to  pluy  the  coward." 

Stella  tottered  forward  without  a  vestige  of  color  iu  her  face. 

"Is  it  then  too  late'  Will  not  a  mother  turn  you  back?  Will 
not  my  love  move  you  from  the  threshold  of  infamy   and  death?" 

"  I  shall  strike  the  blow  that  will  compensate  the  South  for  her 
long  struggle." 

"  Wilkes,  Wilkes " 

"  No  more  appeals,  Stella,"  he  interrupted,  coldly. 

"  You  must  hear  me.  Oh,  God!  I  cannot  leave  you  thus.  The 
river  has  given  me  up   for   this   interview,    A  hand  has  held  me 


18 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


back  until  to-night.  There  is  a  man  on  your  traok  who  will  uoi 
let  you  succeed.  You  know  who  1  mean.  Oh,  desert  the  plot  be- 
fore his  hand  falls.  For  the  sake  of  the  woman  who  has  surren- 
dered her  heart,  her  all  to  youi  keeping,  for  the  love  that  has  blos- 
somed only  for  you,  Wilkes " 

The  appeal  was  not  finished,  for  at  that  moment  the  door  opened 
and  a  man  appeared  on  the  tlireshold. 

Booth  saw  him  tlrst,  and  his  eyes  lighted  uj)  ^  itli  a  strange 
pleasure  while  he  gazed. 

Stella  turned  slowly  upon  the  visitor. 

"  Merciful  God  !"  arose  from  her  lips,  as  she  tottered  back.  "Oh, 
fiend— Bend !  what  brings  you  here?" 

The  next  moment,  ere  the  sentence  was  entirely  finished,  the 
beautiful  girl  fell  senseless  at  Booth's  feet. 

The  man  in  the  doorway  seemed  transformed  into  a  statue  whose 
eyes  were  starting  from  its  head. 

"Come in,"  said  Booth  to  him.  "This  girl  must  have  met  you 
before,  Payne." 

Payne? 

Tes ;  the  thug  had  come  back. 

CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   TERRIBLE   MANTRAP. 

Lewis  Payne  slowly  crossed  the  Step  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
unconscious  girl  lying  at  Booth's  feet. 

Was  this  the  same  person  he  hart  tracked  from  the  White  House 
a  few  nights  before  to  throttle  ami  throw  him  into  the  Po- 
lomac  ? 

He  could  scarcely  credit  the  evidence  ot  sight,  and  yet  the  face 
was  the  same. 

Yes;  it  was  Stella,  his  lale  vicli 
with  his  own  blood-stained  hands  be 
river. 

No  wonder  that  Payue  stared  at  her  as  if  he  saw  a  person  who 
had  risen  from  thu  dead  ;  no  wonder  that  his  eyes  almost  started 
from  their  sot^kets,  und  that,  despite  his  hardened  (character,  an  icy 
chill  crept  to  his  heart. 

Booth  eould  not  but  notice  the  mans  sudden  change  of  de- 
meanor. 

He  already  secretly  rejoiced  that  Payne  liad  come  back  of  his 
own  accord. 

An  hundred  times  had  he  longed  for  his  right  hand  man  since 
the  quarrel,  but  he  (Booth)  was  too  proud  to  ask  him  to  return. 

Payne  did  not  pause  until  he  stood  over  Stella. 

Then  he  slowly  lifted  his  eyes  to  Booth,  who  saw  that  the  mur- 
derer's face  was  white. 

■When  did  she  come?"  he  asked,  with  siarcfly  a  perceptible 
movement  of  his  lips. 

"  Awhile  ago;  but  why  did  she  faint  on  seeing  you  ?" 

"  Hang  me  if  I  know,"  was  the  quick  answer.  "  I  know  I'm  not 
good  looking,  but  I  did  not  think  I  was  hideous  enough  to  frighten 
women  into  a  faint."  The  speaker  smiled  grimly,  and  let  his  eyes 
wander  to  the  girl  again.  "  If  she  can  be  moved.  I'd  like  to  see  you 
for  a  moment,  Wilkes." 

Payne  appeared  to  have  something  of  importance  to  communi- 
cate, and  Booth  at  once  stooped  and  lifted  Stella  tenderly  in  his 
arms. 

Watched  by  Payne,  the  chief  plotter  carried  the  unconscious 
girl  across  the  room  and  into  the  hallway  beyond. 

"  I  have  sent  her  home,"  he  said. 

"Home?"  echoed  Payne,  starting  forward.  "Where  does  she 
live?" 

"She  would  not  tell  me;  she  wants  to  be  mysterious.  I  called  a 
oab  and  told  the  driver  to  convey  her  to  any  place  she  desired  to 
go." 

Payne  showed  hia  disappointment  by  his  looks. 

He  wanted  to  know  where  Stella  lived. 

What  for  ? 

To  succeed  the  second  time  where  lie  had  failed  the  first,  no 
doubt. 

He  soon  saw  that  Booth  was  as  ignorant  of  the  girl's  quarters  as 
he  was  himself,  and  so  he  was  forced  to  give  up  the  luquiry. 

"  You  see,  I  have  come  back,"  resumed  Payne.  ■■  I  think  I  was 
foolish  for  quitting  you  as  I  did,  but  Id  rathi-r  imt  discuss  that 
matter,  Wilkes." 

"Very  well,"  said  Booth,  satisfied  to  stop  wljeie  Payne  hart 
ended.     "  I  am  glad  to  see  you.    You  have  news :  ' 

"Yes.  I  have  to  tell  vou  that  an  opportmiiiv  :.  ai>c).ci  to  pre- 
sent itself." 

Booth  did  not  re!>ly.  but  his  limk  requested  I'uvne  lo  pro- 
ceed. 

"  Lincoln  is  to  occupy  the  presidents  boxat  Ford's  Fiiiiiiy  iii::lil. 
Grant  is  expected  to  accompany  hiin. 

"  Is  that  your  news  ?"  quietly  asked  Booth. 

■Yes." 
It  isn't  iien--<  to   ine.    Here;"  and  he    drew  a    piece  of  paper 


friijii  ;iu  iuiier  pocket;  "  here  is  a  diagram  of  the  president's  box, 
iiiid  all  iippro;iclies  to  it." 

Payue  listened,  and  looked  on  somewhat  amazed. 

"  You  see,  I  haven't  been  idle,"  continued  Booth.  "  I  am  pleased 
to  inform  yon  that  everything  is  in  readiness  for  Friday  night. 
What  have  you  been  doing— watching  for  Colonel  Opal's  return  ?" 

"No.  That  scoundrel  is  in  Richmond,  where  I  can  find  biin  at 
any  time.    I've  been  watching  Cantwelland  Paul." 

"  Are  they  at  work  ?"  asked  Booth,  displaying  a  little  nervous- 
ness. 

"I  should  say  they  were.  You  do  not  think  that  Cantwell 
would  remain  inactive,  suspecting  what  he  does  ?" 

"  I  do  not."' 

"  Well,  he  is  at  work!  Paul,  however,  is  not  able  to  do  much. 
He  keeps  his  quarters  pretty  constantly,  for  bis  last  Richmond  ad- 
venture still  tells  on  his  frame.  I  do  not  fear  liim.  Ciintwell  is 
the  man  who  needs  looking  after.  Pauland  his  nurse  are  not  dan- 
gerous." 

"  Who  is  his  nurse  ?" 

"  Can  you  not  guess?"  said  Payne,  smiling  faintly. 

"  It  cannot  be  Pauline?" 

"It  is  Pauline.  ' 

Booth  started. 

"  I  would  call  her  dangerous  in  one  sense  of  tli.<  "-orrt.  "  lie  said, 
thinking  of  the  paper  which  had  been  placed  in  his  hands  at  Mrs. 
Surratt's  house.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  call  that  woman  a  dangerous  person 
just  at  this  juncture.  We  must  not  he  balkert  this  time.  Lincoln 
dies  Friday  night." 

"  And  the  others,  too.  I  have  the  diagram  ot  the  secretary's 
house  perfe<rt.  You  and  I  will  be  at  work  at  the  same  hour.  After 
to-night  you  will  not  fear  Silas  Cantwell." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  the  trap  has  been  set,  and  will  he  sprung  -.-fore  dawn. 
I  haven't  been  watching  the  war  detective  for  nothing." 

The  door  opened  ami  shut,  and  Wilkes  Booth  was  alone  once 
more,  alone  with  only  forty-eight  boiire  between  him  and  eternal 
infamy. 

Payne  went  down  the  steps  like  a  mar  liin-rying  bi  keep  mi  ii]>- 
poiutment. 

Twenty  minutes  later  he  entered  a  liotise  wliicU  hart  two  front 
doors. 

It  was  a  large  frame  building,  somewhat  ar.iiqne  in  it.s  structure, 
with  steep  roof,  uo  cornice,  and  with  weather  beaten  shutters. 

The  two  doors  stood  so  close  together  that  ii  hand  could  scarcely 
be  laid  between  them. 

Payne  entered  the  right  hand  door,  over  which  was  barely  dis- 
tinguishable the  number,  930. 

He  found  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  stair,  which  he  asceiide  1  halt 
way,  and  then  crouched  like  a  waiting  assassin  on  the  steps. 

The  minutes  passed  rapidly  away,  but  Lewis  Payne  dirt  not 
move. 

Who  was  he  waiting  for  ?— (certainly  for  some  one. 

At  last  there  came  to  his  ears  a  sound  that  made  him  start. 

He  heard  three  peculiar  raps,  but  not  on  the  door  he  had  lately 
entered. 

They  were  bestowed  on  its  neighbor,  or  on  door  nuinlier  aw. 

Ere  the  last  rap  died  away,  the  door  was  opened,  app  irently  by 
somebody  from  the  inside,  and  Payne's  hand  shot  above  his  head 
and  grasped  a  rope  a  little  stouter  than  a  bell  cord. 

"  Walk  right  up  stairs,"  came  a  woman's  voice  through  the  par- 
tition at  which  Payne  was  listening  with  breathless  intensity. 

The  person  addressed  Iiegan  to  ascend. 

Payne  counted  the  steps  under  his  breath. 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six— seven  ! 

Then  he  jerked  the  cord  with  all  his  might ! 

A  crash;  and  a  half  stifled  cry  followed  the  action,  and  Lowig 
Payne  stood  on  his  feet,  his  whole  countenance  beaming  with  a 
devil's  triumph,  his  eyes  on  fire. 

He  did  not  stir  until  the  silence  of  the  grave  seemed  to  fill  the 
house  again. 

Then  he  crept  down  the  dark  stair  and  passed  into  a  room  to  the 
right  ot  the  meager  lauding. 

There,  all  at  once,  amid  the  gloom  that  surrouuded  him,  a  human 
liand  fell  across  his  wrist. 

Payne  recoiled,  and  let  slip  a  startled  ejaculation. 

"  It  is  I,  Lewis,"  said  a  woman's  voice.  "The  trap  worked  like 
a  charm.    Come  and  see." 

The  twain  traversed  the  room,  passed  into  another,  where  the 
woman  picked  up  a  dark-lantern,  and  they  both  descended  Into  a 
1  irge  cellar. 

"Here  we  are!  "  said  Payne's  conductor,  who  was  by  no  mean- 
handsome,  although  .she  possessed  bnlliant  lyes. 

The  two  stood  on  the  brink  of  what  apiie:inil  to  be  an  ni  '  ■•  .  ,, 
v-liich  was  immediately  under  a  broken  st>iirw:i\. 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY, 


19 


Payne  took  tli.-  hi-iteni  fn.iM  tli.^  woiiia.r.s  liand  at:d  .~-.:m.l  • 
the  abyss. 

For  several  minutes  he  ht^ld  it  iu  a  manner  tliat  threw  the  t~"- 
downward,  and  used  his  eyes  at  the  same  time. 

"I  can't  see  him,  but  he's  there  all  the  same,  lone,"  he  said, 
Hsing  at  last.  "  It's  good  by  torerer,  Silas  Cantwell.  The  slyest 
fox  will  get  into  the  trap  at  last.  We  will  not  be  molested  Friday 
uighl.    Xow  for  the  covering,  lone." 

Setting  the  lantern  down,  Tayne  began  to  carry  heavy  pieces  of 
wood  from  one  corner  of  the  cellar. 

These  he  threw  down  the  well  one  by  one  until  not  a  piece  was 
left. 

"Buried  fowver!"  he  laughed.  "  The  river  may  giveup  itsdead, 
hut  my  man-trap,,  never!  This,  Silas  Cantwell,  is  the  triumph  ot 
Lewis  Payne!" 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

THE      EVE      OF      DOOM. 

Everything  seemed  iu  readiness  now  for  the  consummation  of 
the  great  plot. 

Silas  Cantwell,  Booths  once  friend,  but  persistent  watcher,  had 
been  put  out  of  the  way,  and  Lewis  Payne,  who  had  sharpened  his 
dirk  for  Secreiary  Seward's  heart,  could  assure  the  chief  plotter 
that  he  need  fear  the  war  detective  no  longer. 

The  war  detective,  with  Paul,  had  determined  to  follow  the  trail 
to  the  end,  without  the  assistance  of  any  one. 

He  felt  himself  able  to  cope  with  Booth  and  his  associav<"s,  but 
late  events  have  demonstrated  that  he  had  failed  to  do  so. 

On  the  night  of  the  thirteenth  of  April,  or  the  night  following 
the  thrilling  event  detailed  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  the  last  meet- 
ing ot  the  presidenticides  toolc  place  at  Mrs.  Surratt's  house  iu 
Washington. 

They  were  all  there,  and  for  the  last  time  thedreadful  crime  was 
calmly  discussed,  and  the  final  orders  given  by  Booth. 

(.)u  the  table  lay  a  map,  dotted  here  and  there  with  little  red 
lints,  under  each  of  which  was  a  name. 

T'l-sM  were  the  houses  of  "friends"  on  the  Maryland  peninsula, 
and  John  Surratt  had  marked  them  all. 

Even  the  roads  which  Booth  was  to  take  after  the  assassination 
had  been  traced  in  red— a  color  terribly  appropriate  for  the 
crimson  trail  he  afterward  made  from  the  nation's  capitol. 

The  conference  broke  up  late,  and  the  conspirators  stole  from 
the  house,  and  departed  their  several  ways. 

Booth's  step  that  night  was  light,  even  elastic. 

He  did  not  fear  Silas  Cantwell  any  longer,  and  he  had  even  for- 
gotten Pauline,  who,  Payne  said,  would  be  kept  within  doors  by 
Paul's  illness. 

He  had  tried  to  win  her  love,  but  she  had  repulsed  him. 

Unlike  Stella,  she  had  refused  to  fall  in  love  with  his  handsome 
face  and  winning  voice,  although  she  had  treated  him  in  a  friendly, 
respectful  manner,  until  she  began  to  discover  that  he  had  evil 
designs  against  a  great  man's  life. 

"Hello!"  exclaimed  Booth,  hailing  in  front  of  one  of  the  promi- 
nent hotels  on  the  avenue  on  his  way  home  from  the  last  conclave. 
"There  is  Brady,  by  my  life!  "  and  in  he  went,  to  slap  a  tall  man 
on  the  shoulder,  with  a  "Hello,  old  fellow!"  which  was  immedi- 
ately returned  with  a  friendly  greeting. 

Brady  was  a  colonel  iu  the  Potomac  army,  and  had  but  lately 
arrived  from  the  front. 

"We'll  all  be  there  presently,  Wilkes— two  hundred  thousand  of 
Us,"  said  the  Union  ^^0  oi  e..  "  Your  friends,  my  dear  fellow,  have 
reached  their  last  ditch." 

Booth's  irieudliness  toward  the  South  was  so  well  known  that 
his  intimate  :riends  never  hesitated  to  jest  him  about  it. 

On  this  occasion,  howerei  the  actor-assassin  started,  and  while 
bis  brow  suddenly  darkened  for  a  moment,  his  eyes  seemed  to 
snap  triumphantly. 

"  All  of  them  have  not  found  it  yet,  colonel,"  he  said.  "  It  may 
lie  on  this  side  of  the  Potomac  for  the  other  party." 

These  words  were  spoken  with  a  significance  that  brought  tlieui 
forcibly  to  Brady's  mind  a  few  hours  later. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Wilkes,  iudeed  I  am;  but  when  the  rash 
states  have  been  reconstructed,  you  can  star  through  them  and 
draw  immense  houses." 

"  I'll  draw  big  before  the  week's  out." 

"  Do  you  play  in  Washington  ?" 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"To-morrow  night !  But  come,  colonel,  let  us  drink  a  bumper 
to  the  events  of  the  last  few  days.  I'll  be  generous  with  you.  I'll 
drink  to  your  successful  return  from  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  war,"  and  taking  tlie  ()fli<'ei's  arm.  Booth  led  liini  to  theelegant 
bar-room  ot  the  hotel. 

What  terrible  words  he  had  lightly  spoken. 

Yes,  he  was  going  to  play  on  the  following  night^a  drama 
whose  equal  the  world  had  never  seen, 


From  the  hotel,  where  all  who  saw  him  remarked  his  gaiety  on 
I  he  ruins  of  the  lost  cause,  he  went  to  his  lodgings  and  penned  a 
few  letters. 

Iheclocks  that  struck  midnight  sent  their  sounds  to  his  ears, 
tor  his  pen  was  still  moving  over  the  paper. 

Morning  came. 

At  twelve  o'clock  Booth  entered  Pumphrey's  stable  In  the  rear 
of  the  National  hotel,  and  engaged  a  fleet  bay  mare,  saying  that 
he  would  call  for  her  toward  evening. 

"  I've  got  the  best  horse  in  Washington,"  he  said  to  a  young  man 
who  awaited  him  in  his  room  on  his  way  back  from  the  stable. 
"  Your  horse  is  also  a  good  one.  There's  got  to  be  some  good  rid- 
ing done  between  this  and  daylight  to-morrow,  for  David,  uiy 
boy,  we'll  have  the  whole  North  at  our  heels." 

At  four  o'clock  that  same  day  Booth  reappeared  at  Pumphrey's 
stable,  and  took  the  mare  he  had  engaged  at  twelve. 

Mounting  the  animal,  he  cantered  up  F  street,  thence  mto  an 
alley  between  Ninth  and  Tenth  streets,  and  finally  pulled  up  at 
a  small  stable  off  an  alley  near  the  one  leading  to  the  rear  of  Ford's 
theater. 

"This  is  the  saddle  nag  i  have  recently  purchased,"  he  said  to  a 
man  whom  he  found  at  the  stable.     "  Isn't  she  a  beauty  ?" 

"A  splendid  animal,  Mr.  Booth,"  was  the  reply.  "Of  course 
you  want  her  unsaddled " 

"  No  •  stand  her  in  the  stall  just  as  she  is,"  was  the  interruption. 
"  She  will  be  wanted  to-night." 

From  the  stable  he  made  his  way  to  a  neighboring  drinking  re- 
sort, where  he  met,  as  it  by  accident,  a  man  who  gave  him  a  mean- 
ing look. 

The  twain  ordered  drinks  and  passed  into  a  small  apartment 
where  they  sat  down  at  a  table. 

"  Any  news  since  last  night ':'"  asked  Booth. 

"Yes." 

The  chief  plotter  was  instantly  on  the  alert. 

"  Out  with  it  ;  there  are  no  listeners  here." 

The  man,  who  had  darK  eyes,  a  somewhat  swarthy  face,  andl 
broad  shoulders,  leaned  over  the  table. 

"  I've  discovered  where  Stella  lives,"  he  said. 

Booth  looked  disappointed. 

"Is  that  all?" 

The  listener,  Lewis  Payne,  bit  his  lip. 

"  You  might  not  speak  so  careli'.ssly  it  I  told  you  something,"  he 
snapped  with  spirit,  looking  into  Booth's  eyes. 

"What  do  you  know?    Goon.' 

Payne  did  not  hesitate. 

He  knew  that  Booth  could  not  spare  his  services  at  that  stage  of 
the  game. 

So  he  said  bluntly  : 

"  I  tried  to  kill  that  girl  a  few  days  since." 

"You  did?" 

"Yes." 

"What  for?" 

"She  tried  to  get  an  audience  with  Lincoln." 

"To  betray  me?" 

"To  save  your  life,  she  said.  ' 

"  I  understand,  and  you " 

"I  threw  her  into  the  Potomac,"  interrupted  Payne.  "Some- 
thing had  to  be  done.  How  she  ever  got  out,  I  do  not  know,  but  I 
believe  Silas  Cantwell  had  a  hand  in  her  salvation." 

Booth  did  not  speak  until  he  had  gulped  down  the  contents  of 
the  glass  before  him. 

He  seemed  to  feel  at  that  moment,  and  never  until  then,  the 
depth  of  Stella's  love. 

She  would  have  put  Lincoln  on  his  guard,  and  by  doing  so,  ex- 
posed the  plot  enough  to  force  him.  Booth,  to  fiy  tor  his  life. 

Thus  she  hoped  to  save  the  man  who  fascinated  her. 

Payne  watched  Booth  closely  while  he  communed  with  his 
thoughts. 

What  would  he  say  when  he  spoke  again  ?  « 

Would  he  send  out  an  order  for  Stella's  death  ? 

"Where  does  she  live?"  he  merely  asked.  ' 

"Number  —  ('  street,  second  floor." 

Booth  arose. 

"He  is  going  to  see  her,"  said  Payne,  to  himself.  "By  Jove!  I'd 
like  to  hear  that  last  interview." 

The  two  men  were  about  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Forget  nothing,"  whispered  Booth.      "  To-night  we  win  or  die. 
"  •  Let  come  what  will,  I  mean  to  bear  it  out. 
And  either  live  with  glorious  victory. 
Or  die  with  fame  renown'd  for  chivalry '. 
He  is  not  worthy  of  the  honeycomb. 
That  shuns  the  hive  because  the  bees  have  stiiigi.' 

"To-night,  Lewis,  we  stake  our  lives  on  the  sleru  throw  of  the 
dice,  to-night  we  widow  a  mighty  people." 

Booth  passed  from  the  place,  and  wjilked  rapidly  way. 

The  trees  were  casting  long  shadows  down  the  avenues,  but  the 
actor-assassin  saw  them  not. 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


light,  or  i 


He  paused  at  last  before  the  house  on  C  street,  meutioin-d  by 
Payne  na  being  Stella's  abode. 

At  eight  o'clock  he  was  seen  again. 

This  time  he  was  looking  into  a  private  box  on  the  stage  ol 
Ford's. 

He  was  ready  for  the  great  crime. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ASSASSINATED 

True  it  was  that  the  blow  was  about  to  fall. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  tell  too  minute  particulars  the  story  of 
that  awful  Friday  night. 

History  has  recorded  it  on  her  darkest  page,  and  it  has  been  re- 
told throughout  the  land  ten  thousand  times. 

The  memory  of  that  night  lingers  like  some  horrid  nightmare  in 
the  iniuds  of  many  who  are  living  to-day. 

The  awful   report  "The  president  has  been  assassinated!"  still 
rings  in  the  ears  of  thousands  who  heard  it  that  ni 
first  fair  flushes  of  the  following  day. 

Wilkes  Booth  was  to  play  his  damnable  drama  to  its  close. 

He  had  rung  the  curtain  up  on  the  flrst  scene ;  death  was  to  ring 
it  down  on  the  last  one. 

We  left  Booth  at  the  close  of  the  last  chapter  standing  among  the 
wings  of  the  stage  attached  to  Ford's  theater. 

He  had  selected  a  spot  from  whence  he  could  look  into  the  presi- 
dent's oox,  which  was  adorned  with  flags  because  of  the  crowning 
triumph  Grant  had  lately  won. 

It  was  exptcted  that  Grant  would  attend  the  theater  with  the 
president;  but  the  great  commander  had  been  called  from  the 
«ity,  much  to  the  disappointment  of  the  enthusiastic  audience  as- 
sembled to  greet  him. 

For  several  minutes  Booth  watched,  as  well  as  he  was  able,  the  oc- 
cupants of  Lincoln's  box,  who  were,  besides  the  president  himself, 
Mrs.  Lincoln,  Miss  Harris,  and  Major  Rathbone,  of  the  provost- 
general's  ofBce. 

After  awhile  Wilkes  Booth  disappeared,  having  been  noticed  by 
no  one,  and  the  curtain  rose  for  the  play,  which  was  "Our 
American  Cousin,"  with  Miss  Laura  Keene  in  the  most  prominent 
role 

The  house  was  packed  from  pit  to  dome  by  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant audiences  ever  seen  in  Washington. 

Who,  of  all  that  vast  assembly,  dreamed  that  a  tragedy  was  to 
be  enacted  instead  of  the  advertised  comedy? 

Not  one. 

Those  who  could  look  into  the  president's  box  from  their  seats 
saw  a  smile  flit  now  and  then  across  the  wan,  careworn  face  of  the 
ereat  man. 

Well  might  he  appear  happy  now. 

A  mighty  loud  had  been  taken  from  his  heart. 

He  siood  no  longer  amid  the  smoke  of  civil  war. 

It  had  all  rolled  away,  showing  him  the  dawn  of  a  peace  which 
he  hoped  l)y  moderation  to  make  eternal. 

At  the  iH-ginning  of  the  second  act  a  man  entered  the  stable 
where    Booth    had    left  the    fleet-footed    mare   during  the  atter- 


A  fe« 


This  raau  was  John  Spuugler,  one  of  the  scene-shifters. 

"  When  I  o<iuie  back  here  I  mean  to  ride,"  remarkeil  Booth  to 
Spangler.    "  And  I'll  have  tlie  whole  North  at  my  heels,  too." 

Ho  entered  the  thiater— this  time  by  the  front  door— and  from 
the  dress  circle  surveyed  the  stage. 

The  moment  for  the  third  act  came. 

Booth  had  left  his  new  station  to  whisper  calmly  in  the  stage 
carpenter  h  ciir. 

The  underling  obeyed  his  master,  and  while  he  did  so  the  tele- 
graph wires  leading  from  the  ciiy  were  severed,  so  that  Booth 
might  gallop  lo  safety  with  Lincoln's  blood  on  hand  and  heart. 

'The  door  leading  into  the  president's  box  was  open. 

Suddenly  Booth  appeared  at  the  threshold,  and  seemed  about  to 
enter. 

"Thisis  the  president's  box,  sii, "said  a  voice  that  startled  him. 
"No  one  Is  permitted  to  enter. 

Booth's  eyes  were  seen  to  flash  as  if  indignant. 

"  Mr.  Lincoln  has  sent  for  me,"  he  said,  and  the  person  who  had 
barred  his  way  stepped  aside. 

An  instant  iater  Wilkes  Booth  was  surveying  the  positions  of 
the  privileged  persons  who  occupied  the  box,  but  he  was  quickly 
noticed. 

Major  Rathboue  started  up. 

"  Are  ^ou  aware  upon  whom  you  are  intruding?"  said  the  officer, 
sharply.    "  This  is  the  president's  box,  and  no  one  is  admitted." 

Booth  did  not  reply,  but  looked  into  Rathbone's  determined 
visage  for  a  moment  and  withdrew. 

He  did  not  go  far ;  the  assassin  knew  where  to  stop. 

He  knew  that  there  was  a  hole  in  the  door,  a  gimlet  hole,  through 
which  he  could  mark  his  victim. 

After  being  repulsed  by  Rathbone,  he  hurried  to  it. 

Standing  there  he  noted  Lincoln's  exact  position,  and  while  he 
looked  he  repeated  the  oath  with  which  he  had  already  bound  his 
soul  to  the  awful  compact  by  which  he  lost  it. 

"Now,  my  beloved  South,  I  avenge  all  thy  wrongs !"  suddenly 
said  the  assassin,  as  he  stepped  aside. 

At  that  moment  his  left  hand  clutched  a  dirk,  and  his  right  a 
revolver. 

What  a  terrible  moment  the  next  one  was! 

One  stride  carried  Booth  across  the  threshold,  another  bore  him 
to  the  president. 

The  next  second  the  revolver  was  thrust  almost  against  the 
back  of  Lincoln's  head,  and  then  came  a  report  that  seemed  to 
stun  every  one  who  heard  it. 

The  president's  head  dropped  forward;  there  was  no  groan,  no 
death  cry— the  ball  was  in  his  brain ! 

Major  Rathbone  seemed  to  realize  the  extent  of  the  crime  in  an 
instant  of  time. 

He  saw  Booth  leap  across  the  box,  and  he  immediately  spruug 


■Inr-asstissin   wheeled  upon  his  hunter,  and 


Tht 


afte 


front  of  the  box,  parted  the  flags  wi 
stage  beneat  h ! 

The  whole  aiidienceseemed  piii  iil,\  ze.l. 

Booth  t'lrnid  full  upon  it  when  hi- strni'k  the  stage. 

He  raised  the  knife  above  his  lieari. 

His  eyes  seemed  on  lire. 

"S(c  semper  ty  in  nii  is  .'—Virginia  is  avenged  !"  pealed  from  hit 
throat. 

Another  instant  and  he  was  gone! 

He  was  followed  even  then;  several  attempted  to  bar  his  prog- 
ress, but  he  pushed  them  all  aside. 

The  strength  of  a  Hend  incarnate  seemed  to  possess  him. 

Like  a  racer  he  shot  through  the  open  door  at  the  back  of  the 
stage,  and  appeared  suddenly  before  the  man  who  held  his  ready 
horse. 

"  It  is  done ! "  he  said,  hoarsely,  ^  he  vaulted  into  the  saddle. 

The  next  second,  struck  by  a  spur,  the  horse  went  off  like  a 
rocket. 

He  bore  his  rider  to  the  street  where  he  was  joined  by  a  young 
man  mounted  like  himself. 

In  the  light  of  a  lamp  the  twain  exchanged  significant  looks. 

"Come!"  then  said  Booth.  "I've  paralyzed  the  whole  audi- 
ence." 

Away  the  two  men  went  side  by  side — past  the  post  oflice  and 
over  the  brow  of  Capitol  Hill." 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  until  they  were  about  to  strike  the 
bridge  across  the  eastern  branch  of  the  Potomac  at  Uniontown. 

"  Did  you  make  sure  of  him  ?"  asked  Booth's  companion  in  a 
whisper. 

The  murderer  turned  a  pair  of  flashing  eyes  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Sure  ?"  he  echoed.  "  Do  you  think  I've  plotted  all  this  time  to 
miss  to-night?" 

"  No,  wTlkes " 

"  No  questions  now.    We  are  at  the  river." 

Yes,  the  Potomac  was  before  them. 

Booth  drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  asked  the  oflicer  in  charge  of  the  bridge. 

"  Wilkes  Booth  and  friend,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

The  man  stepped  aside. 

Booth  was  shrewd  in  giving  his  real  name  at  the  bridge. 

He  believed  that  the  officers  would  think  that  one  of  his  aooom- 
plioes  had  used  his  name  to  mislead  them. 

The  wisdom  of  his  course  was  exhibited   during  the  next  few 

His  ruse  misled  justice. 

Booth  and  Harold  galloped  across  the  bridge  and  left  the  excited 
capital  behind  them. 

Harold  could  not  see  Booth's  face  for  the  darkness  that  sur- 
rounded them,  but  he  knew  he  was  still  at  his  side. 

The  thoughts  of  the  murderer  during  that  ride  no  man  knows. 

He  must  have    realized    the   enormity  of  his  crime,  for  he  had 


ised  land. 

On,  on  they  went,  the  assassin  and  his  tool,  the  boy  who  Payne 
had  declared  would  desert  him  at  the  last  bitter  hour. 

At  midnight  two  horsemen  drew  rein  in  front  of  Lloyd's  hotel  in 
Surrattsvillc. 

They  were  Booth  and  Harold. 

The  youth  dismounted  and  hammered  on  the  door. 

Lloyd  came  down  quickly,  as  though  he  had  been  expeci...ig  he 
pair. 

Harold  went  iuside  and  obtaiued  a  bottle  of  whisky,  some  of 
which  he  gave  Booth,  who  swallowed  the  burning  fluid  wjth 
avidity. 

Harold  went  back  into  the  house  aud  got  a  carbine,  one  of  fvo 
he  had  secreted  there  six  weeks  before  for  that  very  ride. 

"  Don't  you  want  the  other  one?"  asked  Lloyd. 

"No;  Booth  has  broken  his  leg  and  can't  carry  it,"  was   the  an^ 

Broken  his  leg? 

Yes ;  the  assassin's  boot  was  already  filled  with  blood. 

In  jumping  from  the  president's  box  he  had  fallen  and  fractured 
his  leg. 

It  looked  as  if  justice  was  already  on  his  track. 

Booth's  eyes  gained  new  flashes  with  the  liquor. 

As  he  rode  off  he  cried  out  to  Lloyd  : 

"  Don't  you  want  some  news?" 

"Yes." 

"  We've  killed  the  president  and  the  secretary  of  state." 

Then  the  spurs  struck  the  horses'  sides  again,  and  the  two  men 
passed  rapidly  from  the  landlord's  sight. 

How  did  he  know  that  Seward  hml  been  attacked  ? 

Ah!  he  knew  who  he  had  com  missioned  to  take  the  secretary's 
life,  and  he  had  a  right  to  believe  that  Seward  was  dead. 

Lewis  Payne  always  killed  when  he  struck. 

So  thought  Booth,  anyway,  as  he  galloped  through  the  night. 

More  than  once  Wilkes  grated  his  teeth  and  pressed  his  fractured 
limb  against  the  saddle,  hoping  to  ease  the  pain  that  nearly  crazed 
him. 

"  What  will  become  of  Stella  now?" 

A  startling  cry  rose  from  the  murderer's  lips. 

"Great  God!  don't  breathe  her  name  here!"  he  cried.  "I 
would  not  listen  to  the  girl.     May  we  never  meet  again !" 

Harold  said  no  more,  for  Booth's  face,  and  the  wild  glare  of  his 
eyes,  daunted  him. 

No!  he  did  not  want  to  think  of  Stella  then,  the  beautiful  girl 
whose  love  he  had  lured  to  the  brink  of  utter  ruin. 

She  was  still  too  pure  for  him. 

On,  on  went  the  assassin  and  his  friend. 

The  hoof  beats  of  their  horses  sounded  weirdly  on  the  air  of 
night. 

The  stars  that  guarded  that  lonely  road  saw  the  human  specters 
flit  along,  bearing  with  them  the  greatest  crime  of  the  age. 

Booth  now  and  then  drove  the  red  spurs  home. 

The  fleet  mare  was  not  fleet  enough  for  his  guilty  soul. 

All  this  time  where  was  Booth's  victim  ?     Where  wa«  AbratUUB 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


21 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


Jiud  uewg  travels  fast. 

Be 
thel 

True,  he  was  uot  dead;  but  there  was  no  hope. 

Booth's  bullet  had  done  its  horrid  work  too  well. 

Lincoln  lay  iu  the  little  room  across  the  street  from  the  play- 
house, surrounded  by  his  family,  and  a  weeping  cabinet. 

Slowly  the  life  of  the  great  man,  the  flrst  martyr  president,  was 
ebbing  away. 

His  blood  dyed  the  folds  of  the  Hag  which  was  floating  that 
morning  above  the  battered  ramparts  of  rebellion. 

He  was  to  die  at  the  threshold  of  peace,  at  the  open  door  of  a 
new  era,  and  all  the  prayers  of  the  land  were  not  enough  to  save 
him. 

Washington  was  all  excitement. 

A  thousand  rumors  of  the  wildest  kind  filled  the  air. 

Not  long  after  Booth's  attempt  on  the  president's  life  it  became 
known  that  a  rufBan,  armed  with  a  dirk,  had  actually  fought  his 
way  to  Secretary  Seward's  bed,  and  stabbed  him,  so  the  assassin 
thought,  to  death. 

Then  It  was  said  that  Vice-president  Johnson  and  Secretary 
Stanton  had  narrowly  escaped  assassination. 

It  was  even  said,  in  some  quarters,  that  Grant  had  beeu  followed 
from  the  city  and  killed. 

Pen  cannot  describe  the  wild  events  of  the  concluding  houra  of 
that  terrible  Friday  night. 

luvestigation  provHd  that  the  vice-president  and  the  secretary  of 
war  had  escaped,  that  Grant  was  safe,  but  that  Seward  had  beeu 
stabbed  several  times  by  the  man  with  the  big  dirk. 

Already  the  police  force  and  the  members  of  the  goverumeut 
secret  service  were  on  the  lookout  for  Booth  and  his  accomplices. 

Some  said  that  they  were  lurking  somewhere  in  the  city,  but  the 
police  wisely  believed  that  they  had  fled. 

Morning  was  breaking,  when  a  tall  and  handsome,  but  pale- 
faoed  woman  entered  a  room  on  tiptoe,  and  bent  over  a  young 
man  who  was  enjoying  a  deep  sleep  on  a  couch. 

"There  were  traces  of  suffering  on  the  bloodless  face,  half  buried 
amoug  the  pillow.^,  :ind  the  woman's  eyes  filled  with  pity  as  she 
eazwi  ui.on  it. 

He  was  awake. 

"Ah!  is  it  you,  Pauline?"  he  said,  with 
Has  Silas 


glad 


pleased  smile. 
jyet?" 

No.     1  c.aiuot  thiuk  what  keeps  him." 
Ue  wumnu  slopped  suddenly  and  turned  her  face  away, 
riiotioii  seemed  to  be  choking  her. 
Pauline,   something  has    happened,"  said    the   youth. 


How 


'Yoii 


know  something— some  bad  news.     You  are  trying  to  keep  it  frc 
me.    Tliis  will  never  do.    Tell  me  what  it  is?" 

Slowly  Pauline  turned  to  the  cot  again. 

Then  she  dropped  into  a  chair  beside  the  pillow  and  took   Paul's 
hand. 

"  Bud  news  it  is,"  she  murmured.    "The  president  is— dead  !  " 

How  the  young  man  started. 

A  strauge  light  appealed  in  his  almost  lusterless  eyes. 

'•Dead,  Pauline?    No,  no! — not  dead!"  hesaid. 

"  Perhaps  uot  (luite  dead,  but  there  is  no  hope." 

"Wlid  did  it?" 

"Wilkes  Booth!" 

Pauline  felt  the  hand  she  held  glide  from  her  grasp. 

"Silas  has  failed,  then!     He  said  he  would    not  let  Booth  carry 
out  his  scheme.    He My  God !  where  can  Silas  be?  " 

Paul  called  the  war  detective  Silas  oftener  than    Leon,  which 
was  his  proper  name. 

For  a  momeut  no  voice  followed  his  last  word. 

in    the  intense   silence    Pauline    heard  the    beating  oC   Paul's 
heart. 

"That  man    whom    you   call    Payne   may  have    tracked  Silas 
down,'  suddenly  continued  Paul,  catching  the  woman's  eye.    "  If 

he  has,  woe  to  him!    Pauline,  if  you  will  retire  for  a  fei ' 

I  will  call  you  in." 

The  woman  started, 

"YoumM.-!t  not  rise,"  she  said,  gently  laying   her   h; 


if  blood." 

Pauline  looked  at  the  speaker  as  if  sho  feared  that  reason  was 
again  deserting  her  throne. 

"  The  president  dying  and  Wilkes  Bootli  at  large— oh.  Heaven  ?" 
exolaiiiied  Paul.  "A  little  illness  must  not  keep  me  here.  Why 
didn't  they  catch  Booth  immediately  after  committing  the  crime? 
Where  did  he  do  it,  and  how?  Come,  tell  me  all  about  it, 
Pauline." 

Thus  invited  to  detail  the  crime  as  she  had  heard  it  told  on  the 
streets,  Pauline  took  Paul's  hand  again,  and  began  the  terrible 
narrative. 

With  his  eyes  riveted  upon  her  face  the  young  man  hung  on 
every  word  as  it  dropped  from  her  lips. 

He  scarcely  seemed  to  breathe. 

Pauline  told  all  she  had  hearu,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  tell 
of  the  crime  which  had  shocked  a  continent. 

As  the  last  word  fell  from  her  lipa  the  solemn  tones  of  a  bell  en- 
tered the  little  room. 

The  woman's  head  dropped  to  the  pillow,  and  rested  there  and 
Paul  felt  her  hand  tighten  aiouiid  his. 

Toll,  toll,  toll! 

Not  a  word  fell  fiom  the  lips  of  either  one  until  the  last  sound 
had  died  away. 

"He  is  dead,"  said  Paul,  reverently,  and  scarcely  above  a  whis- 
per.   "The  great  man  has  gone  to  his  eternal  reward." 

There  was  no  iniswer. 

Paul  turned  and  looked  iit  the  head  on  the  pillow. 

"  Pauline,  Pauline!"  he  cried  ;  "  we  must  thinkof  vengeancBl" 

At  that  word  the  woman  started  up. 


ig  bac- V..- -«p..- .-" -  a  A.  A.X. 

Heaven!  follow  the  inurdcrei-  with  Thy  avenging  eye.  Set  the 
bloodhouudsof  justice  on  his  truck!  L-t  him  uot  sleep  until  he 
sleeps  the  sleep  of  death!  He  w,.nl.)  ii.d  tly  at  my  warning.  He 
laughed  at  the  picture  of  the  siutlokl  1  pluied  in  his  hands.  Ob, 
God!  make  my  prophecy  to  him  a  lii iter  reality.  Give  the  laud 
his  blood.  Givehim  the  death  ot  the  dog,  and  the  iutamy  that 
wears  a  crown  in  hell !" 

Paul  who  had  watched  and  listened  to  Pauline,  almost  spraug 
from  the  couch  at  the  last  word.  ,   .._.-,     ^ 

It  thrilled  the  depths  of  his  soul  and  stirred  the  blood  at  hn 
fingers'  ends. 

"Silas  must  be  found  I"  hesaid. 

"I  will  find  him." 

"You,  Pauline?" 

"Yes.  I  want  to  help  avenge  the  president's  death.  I  want  to 
put  Silas  on  Wilkes  Booth's  track." 

"Then  go,  and  may  Heaven  direct  your  steps." 

Pauline,  her  face  all  aglow  with  excitement,  stooped  over  the 
speaker  and  imprinted  a  kiss  on  his  forehead. 

"I  will  be  back  ere  long,"  she  said,  turning  away.  "Do  not 
"row  nervous.    1  will  return  with  the  flrst  bit  ot  news  I  find." 

The  next  second  the  door  shut  gently  behind  her,  and  Paul,  the 
detective's  protege,  was  alone  again. 

With  exciting  thouglits  chasing  one  another  through  his  brain 
he  lay  with  his  face  turned  to  the  window,  waiting  anxiously  for 
Pauline's  return.  ^  .   ^ 

'•  That  girl  is  worth  her  weight  in  gold,"  he  said.  "  She  tried  to 
save  me  in  Richmond  when  I  was  in  Beauregard's  hands,  and  she 
succeeded  after  all.  When  I  was  picked  up  in  the  alley  more  dead 
than  alive  by  the  rebel  guard  and  taken  to  the  hospital,  she  oame 
to  me  and  nursed  me  through  those  long  days  of  delirium  that  fol- 
lowed. And  when  Silas  came  to  hunt  me  he  found  her,  of  course, 
and  they  got  me  away  from  that  living  grave.  What  don't  I  owe 
Ihat  girl,  and  how  can  I  ever  pay  her?  The  lovers'  quarrel  long 
igo  is  all  forgotten,  and  the  Pauline  Dupont  of  to-day  is  the  dear 
ill'  she  was  then.  She  rises  above  herself  in  times  like  these.  She 
will  find  Silas  it  he  lives.  She  will  put  on  Booth's  track  an 
avenger  who  will  not  leave  him  till  the  end  comes." 

Thus  Paul  communed  with  himself  as  the  sun  crept  toward  tha 
zenith. 

Hour  after  hour  went  by. 

More  than  once  the  invalid  passed  his  hand  across  his  torebead 
»nd  found  it  hot. 

A  fever  was  coming  on. 

He  saw  the  sun  sink  westward  again. 

The  shadows  in  his  room  grew  long,  and  yet  Pauline  had  not 

"This  is  torture— it  is  worse  than  death!"  burst  from  his  throat. 
'■  It  is  more  than  1  can  stand." 

He  sprung  from  the  couch  and  tottered  to  his  clothes,  near  by. 

A  strange,  wild  light  burned  in  the  depths  of  his  feverish  eyes. 

As  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  latch,  tome  one  on  the  outside  pushed 
it  open. 

Paul  reeled  away  with  an  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

A  man  stepped  across  the  threshold. 

Paul  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  went  towa'd  him  with  a 
loud  shout  of  joy. 

"Silas! — at  last!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes!"  said  the  man,  catching  Paul  in  his  arms.  "I  am  back 
from  the  gravel" 

For  a   moment  Silas   Cantwell  looked  down  into  Paul's  white 

"P; 

back  to  yoiirbed  and  wait  till  Pauline  comes.' 

"  Did  she  find  you  ?"  asked  Paul,  eagerly. 

"  She  found  me,  and  just  In  time ;  but  I  cannot  tellyou  now. 
She  will  when  she  comes.  I  have  a  work  to  perform.  You  know 
what  has  happened  ?" 

"I  know  all." 

"  If  Payne,  the  assassin,  had  not  hurled  me  into  his  man-trap,  it 
would  never  have  oiinrred—thatawfulsceneat  Ford's.  Butnever 
mind.  Payne  has  liteii  arrested,  and  you  shall  see  him  swing.  I 
must  leave  you  now,  PmiiI.  Becalm!  lam  going  to  run  Wilkes 
Booth  down.  Where  lie  dies  I  will  stand.  He  shall  yet  learn  thaf, 
Leon  Lennox  is  still  a  living  avenger  of  the  president's  blood." 

The  detective  then  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    ASSASSIN'S    TRAII.. 

As  has  already  been  mentioned.  Colonel  Baker,  the  head  of  the 
government  secret  service,  was  not  in  Washington  at  the  time  of 
the  president's  assassination. 

The  detection  of  frauds  in  the  recruiting  service  had  called  him 
to  New  York  some  days  before,  and  the  following  dispatch  found 
lilm  iu  his  room,  at  the  Astor  House : 

"  Washington,  April  15. 

"Colonel  L.  C.  Baker:  Come  here  immediately  and  see  if  you 
can  find  the  murderer  of  the  president. 

"  Edwin  M.  Stanton,  secretary  of  war." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  great  detective  chief  prepared  im- 
mediately to  set  out  for  Washington,  but  unfortunately  for  the 
hunt  for  justice,  no  train  left  New  York  for  the  capital  until  the 
next  day;  therefore.  Baker  did  not  reach  the  scene  of  Booth's 
crime  until  Sunday  morning. 

One  ot  his  flrst  questions  was : 

"  Where's  Lennox  ?" 

Nobody  could  tell  him. 

The  war  detective  had  not  been  seen  for  sevei'al  days,  and  his 
piesent  whereabouts  were,  of  course,  not  known. 

"I'd  like  to  have  the  fellow  with  me  now,"  said  Baker,  disap- 
pointed, "  I  need  such  men  as  him;  but  we  must  to  work  with 
the  material  at  hand." 

And  "  to  work  "  the  chief  of  the  secret  service  went  without  a 
i-iniuenfsrest. 

lie  found  that  but  little  looking  to  the  oaptUM  of  Booth  bad 
I)  .,1  accoiupliahed. 


22 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


Beyond  lUn  lutelligence  that  it  was  really  Booth  who  had  killed 
Llnooln,  and  that  he  had  an  accomplice  named  Harold,  but  littlt 
had  been  found  out.  „     ^^,     ^  ^   ^ 

It  wa3  known  that  a  man  answenng  Booth  s  description  had 
crossed  the  Uniontown  bridge  the  night  ot  the  murder;  beyond 
that— nothing. 

Men  said  that  the  assassin  would  bury  himself  among  the  swamps 
ol  the  Maryland  peuiusula  until  the  hunt  slacked;  then  he  would 
escape  into  the  heart  of  the  collapsed  Confederacy,  and  from 
thence  reach  a  hiding-place  beyond  the  sen. 

I  Let  us  return  to  Booth,  for  to  follow  him  is  to  reach  the  end  by 
a  direct  route;  it  is  to  tell  what  Silas  Cantwell  accomplished,  and 
how  the  blood  of  the  martyr  president  was  avenged. 

We  left  him  and  Harold,  his  giddy  young  accomplice,  ridin;; 
along  the  gloomy  road  that  stretched  southward  from  Surratts- 

Ha'rold  did  not  venture  to  disturb  Booth's  reveries  again. 

He  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  reminding  Booth  of  Stellas 

devotion,  aud  the  fierce  look  of  the  assassin  had   warned  him  not 

to  repeat  the  indiscretion. 
It  was  near  sunrise  on  Saturday  when  Booth  and   Harold  drew 

rein  before  a  house  three   miles   from    a   hamlet,   called    Bryan- 
It  was  a  doctor's  residence,  and  a  few  moments  after  the  halt,  the 

country  surgeon  was  cutting  a  boot  from  Booth's  leg. 
The  assassin  with  his  hat  pulled  over  his  forehead  bore  the  pain, 

occasioned  by  Dr.  Mudd's  operations,  without  a  groan,  and  when 

the  job  was  completed,  handed  him  twenty-live  dollars  in  green- 

The  doctor,  in  addition  to  the  fee,  kept  the  mutilated  boot,  on 
the  lining  of  which  was  the  inscription  : 
*'J   Wilkes." 

This  name  was  to  help  the  assassin  on  to  death. 
Aided  no  w  by  a  pair  of  crutches,  which  an  Englishman  at  Mudd's 
house  had  whittled  out,   while  the  broken  leg  was  being  dressed. 
Booth  could  hobble  about  the  house. 
He  and  Harold  kept  close  together  all  day. 

Booth  had  been  introduced  to  the  doctor  under  a  name  picked 
up  for  the  occasion,  although  any  man  with  a  little  more  than 
average  intelligence  would  have  suspected  at  once  that  something 
was  wrong. 
Dr.  Mudd  it  seems  was  too  thick-headed  to  suspicion. 
"  Come,  David,  we  must  move  on,"  said  Booth,  toward  evening. 
"Something  tells  me  that  the  Northern  beagles  are  on  our  track. 
We  must  get  away  from  this  place." 

So  the  men  slipped    their  horses  from   Mudd  s  stables  an<l  rode 
Bouth  again. 
Always  south !  ,     ,  ^ 

The  hopes  of  the  assassiu  rested  where  the  lost  cause  had  flour- 
ished, despite  four  years  of  battle. 

A  short  distance  below  Bryautown  lie  a  number  of  deep,  dark 
swamps,  reeking  with  slime  and  filled  with  reptiles. 

More  than  one  poor  fugitive  slave  has  exchanged  bondage  for 
death  in  their  gloomy  depths,  aud  deep  in  the  disgusting  ooze 
found  a  nameless  grave. 

It  was  toward  the  fens  that  Booth  and  Harold  rode  after  leaving 
Mudd's  house.  ^  ,       „         ^x  .-    i 

Before  starting  Booth  had  consulted  the  map  John  burratt  had 
made  for  him,  and  he  was  anxious  to  reach  a  certain  house  desig- 
nated by  a  red  dot  on  the  paper. 
The  twain  skirted  the  edge  of  one  of  the  swamps  just  mentioned 
AH  at  once  Booth  drew  rein  and  cocked  Ill's  revolver. 
"  Hold  on,  darl"  cried  a  darky,  who  heard  the  click  of  the  lock. 
"  It's  only  ole  Swan,  an'  he's  been  doin'  nothin'  out  ob  de  way." 
"  Come  up  here ;  we  want  you,"  said  Booth,  leaning  forward. 
The  negro  advanced  with  fear  and  trembling. 
"  Do  you  know  where  Allen's  Fresh  is  ?" 
"  Yes,  sah." 

"  Can  you  guide  us  to  the  place?" 

Ouided  by  the  negro,  who  moved  ahead,  the  assassin  and  his  ac- 
complice went  forward  again. 
The  negro  seemed  to  inspire  them  anew  with  confidence. 
It  was  a  tedious  journey,  for  the  road  was  in  bad  condition,  and 
at  times  could  hardly  be  seen. 
The  little  settlement  of  Allen's  Fresh  seemed  as  far  away  as  ever. 
"Whose  house  is  this?"    asked  Booth,   drawing    reign  before  a 
large  house  which  loomed  up  before  him. 
"  Dat  house  ?    Dat's  Sam  Co.xes,"  said  the  guide. 
The  name  seemed  to  please  Booth. 
"  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he?"  he  asked. 
"A  Southerner;  dat  is  his  sympathies  am  wid  de  Souf." 
"  We'll  stop  and  see  him." 

The  black  guide  may  have  wondered  why  the  men  so  anxious  to 
get  to  Allen's  Fresh  wanted  to  stop  at  Coxe's :  but  he  did  not  say 
anything. 
It  was  none  of  his  business. 
The  men  rode  as  close  to  the  house 
mounted. 

Harold  used  his  lungs  to  rouse  the  people,  and  succeeded,  for  a 
light  appeared  aud  a  half-dressed  man  made  his  appearance. 

He  admitted  the  couple,  and  set  meat  and  drink  before  them, 
keeping  them  till  morning. 

When  they  rose  to  move  on,  Booth  raised  a  quarrel  with  their 
host  about  the  hospitality,  and  parted  from  him  in  apparent  ill 
humor. 

The  black  guide  now  led  them  on  again,  but  three  miles  from 
the  house  Booth  reined  in  his  horse. 

"  We  know  the  road  well  enough  now,"  he  said  to  the  darky. 
"  Here  are  five  dollars  more;  you  can  go." 

Swan  pocketed  the  greenbacks  and  turned  away,  but  when  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulders  in  the  early  gray  of  that  Sunday  morn- 
ing he  saw  that  Booth's  horse's  head  was  turned  toward  Coxe's, 
and  not  in  the  direction  of  Allen's  Fresh. 

"  We've  got  rid  of  the  black  skin,"  said  Booth  to  Harold.  "  Now 
we  can  go  back  to  Coxe's." 

Need  we  say  that  they  found  au  asylum  in  the  house  they  had 
lately  left? 
They  were  in  the  district  where  there  were  no  railroads  and  no 


Of  course  none  of  the  Inhabitants  had  yet  heard  a  word  about 


oth  when  he  threw  aside  his 
bed   assigned  to  him  by  the 


the  great  tragedy  at  Washington. 

A  sigh  of  relief  escaped  Wilke 
crutches  and  cast  himself  upo 
owner  of  the  house.  ,       „     . 

He  soon  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  for  the  long  ride  had  well  nigh 
exhausted  him,  and  he  felt  that  he  must  obtain  strength  for  the 

All  that  day,  except  at  broken  intervals,  the  assassin  slept, 
watched  by  Harold,  and  guarded  by  Sam  Coxe  and  his  neighbors. 

Night  came  again  to  pass  away  without  alarming  Booth,  and  h? 
hailed  the  next  day  refreshed  and  confident. 

Still  he  tarried  at  Coxe's  house. 

Did  he  know  that  the  whole  country  swarmed  with  his  hunters; 
that  Colonel  Baker  was  at  work  with  the  best  detectives  in  the 
world,  aud  that  General  Hancock's  cavalry  were  scouring  the 
region  round  about  ? 

It  was  after  twelve  o'clock  on  Thursday  night  when  Harold, 
white-faced  and  shaking  like  a  leaf,  crept  to  Booth's  chamber. 

He  found  Booth  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  as  if  a  dream  had 
aroused  him  from  sleep.  ,      .   ,  .  j.   j.^ 

"Wilkes!  my  God!"  gasped  the  youth,  sinking  at  the  assassin  s 

Booth's  glance  seemed  to  look  him  through. 

"See  here!  I  want  no  cowards  with  me!"  he  said,  clutching 
Harold's  shoulder.  "  What  kind  of  a  dream  has  whitened  your 
face?  Speak!  Don't  sit  there  chattering  like  a  person  ague- 
struck,  or,  by  Heaven !  I'll  think  that  Payne  gauged  you  about 

"  Dream  ?"  echoed  Harold,  forced  to  speak  by  Booth's  demeanor. 
"I  hope  it  is  a  dream."  .„,_   ,  ^ 

"  What  is  it?    You  haven't  answered  me.  What  have  you  seen? 

'■  A  ghost,  perhaps.' 

"Where?     Lincoln 
hard. 

"  I— I  don't  know." 

"Where  was  it?" 

"Out  yonder  in  the  yard." 

Booth  picked  up  his  crutches,  and   hobbled 
had  received  Harold's  glance. 

Revolver  in  hand.  Booth  watched  the  man   creeping  troni 
lo  bush,  and  from  shadow  to  shadow. 

At  last  the  specter  stopped  under  the  window. 

Booth  raised  the  revolver,  and  pressed  the  muzzle  almost  a.g: 
the  glass. 

Why  did  he  not  fire?  ,      ^         ^        ,  ,      i,    , 

Suddenly  his  arm   dropped,   he  turned  aud  came  back    t. 
trembling  accomplice. 

UU  vol.  ^>  wn<  liuskv  when  he  spoke. 

"  Great  God  I"  he  said.    "  Payne  did  not  kill  Sila*  CantweU. 
is  out  there!" 


said   the    murderer,  shutting 


teeth 


the  window  that 


H» 


they    could   get  and  dis- 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  TRAIL,  GROWS  HOT. 

Wilkes  Booth  had  not  mistaken  his  man. 

Silas  Cantwell  was  hot  on  his  trail,  and  already  the  gallows  noose 
dangled  before  the  assassin's  eyes. 

He  did  not  know  that  with  the  acumen  of  the  natural  born  detec- 
tive, Cantwell  had  tracked  him  from  Washington  to  Dr.  Mudd's, 
where  he  had  examined'  the  mutilated  boot,  bloody  inside  and 
bearing  the  tell-tale  legend,  "J.  Wilkes,"  that  from  thence  he 
had  trailed  him  to  Coxe's  house,  and  now  felt  certain  of  his  prey. 

Booth,  after  his  last  exclamation,  did  not  speak  for  a  moment. 

"Silas  Cantwell  shall  never  see  me  swing  for  my  shot  in  Wash- 
ington," he  said,  in  the  resolute  tones  of  a  desperate  man.  "  I 
don't  want  to  spill  his  blood,  but  he  will  force  me  to  do  so  iu  self- 
defense.    Get  your  revolver,  boy." 

"  I  have  it  here,"  answered  Harold.    "  What  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"We  must  rid  ourselves  of  the  man  out  yonder;  we  must  not 
fail  as  Payne  did."  ..,.,.,_,, 

Booth  glided  across  to  the  window,  and  parted  the  fadeil  cur- 
tains again. 

Eagerly  he  peered  out,  but  the  shade  of  disappointment  that 
crossed  his  face  told  that  Silas  Cantwell  had  disappeared. 

"  He's  gone,"  whispered  the  assassin,  to  his  white  faced  dupe. 
"He  has  crept  away  to  weave  the  meshes  of  doom  for  us." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?" 

Booth  turned  quickly  upon  Harold  and  a  derisive  laugh  rippled 
over  his  lips.  .^     ,,^,  „  »,_•    . 

"What!  weakening  already?"  he  said.  "Come,  Dave;  this  is 
the  hour  for  courage.    No  faltering  now." 

Harold  tried  to  brace  up,  but  with  a  contemptu 
turned  his  eyes  away.  ,       .   ,_ 

The  next  moment  the  door  at  the  men's  right  opened 

Quick  as  a  flash  Wilkes  Booth  whirled  upon  the  intruder. 

"Halt!"  he  cried,  raising  the  revolver. 

Did  he  think  that  Silas  Cantwell  had  found  him  at  last? 

"  It  is  I,  Wilkes,"  said  a  voice  that  caused  the  weapon  to  be  low- 
ered immediately,  and  a  man  came  forward. 

It  was  Coxe,  the  rebel,  and  his  face,  seen  in  the  dim  light,  told 
the  hunted  men  that  he  had  some  important  news  to  communi- 
cate. 

"  There's  a  man  out  there,"  he  said,  i 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Booth.    "  It  is  i 

"  Who's  he?" 

"  The  last  man  I  want  to  encounter.    Where  is  he  now  i 

"  He  has  crept  off  toward  the  barn." 

"  Could  you  find  him  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

It  was  evident  that  Coxe  was  not  anxious  to  make   a   trailer  out 

"  While  that  man  lives  we  are  all  in  danger,"  continued  Booth. 
"  I'm  not  able  to  follow  him,  you  see.  1  can't  move  without  the 
aid  of  this  crutch.    I  guess  we'll  have  to  depend  on  you,  Coxe." 

"Then  by  heavens!  I'll  find  him,"  blurted  Coxe,  bravely.  "He 
shall  not  leave  these  premises  alive.  You  men  can  go  to  sleep  if 
you  wish.    Silas  Cantwell  shall  never  report  to  anybody." 


look.  Booth 


ith  a 


THE  WA.R  LIBBARY. 


The  door  closed  on  the  burly  figure  of  the  Maryland  rebel,  and 
the  a^assin  looked  at  Harold  much  relieved. 

An  hour  passed  away,  hut  Co.xe  did  not  return. 

Of  course  the  fugitives  did  not  sleep. 

Booth  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed  with  a  cocked  revolver  in  hia 
hand,  and  with  every  sense  on  the  alert. 

He  looked  like  a  jungle  tiger  surrounded  by  his  hunters,  or  like 
a  wolf  brought  to  bay. 

"  Not  a  word  was  heard  in  that  house  until  long  after  midnight 

All  at  once  a  slight  noise  drove  the  two  men  to  their  feet. 

"  (iet  ready,  Dave,"  said  the  assassin.  " No  surrender !  Kill  as 
many  as  you  can  belor    you  die." 

But  the  noise  had  not  been  made  by  the  foot  of  a  foe,  but  by 
Coxe  himself. 

The  man  crept  into  the  room. 

"By  Jove!  I've  worked  hard,"  he  said,  before  Booth  could 
question  him.  "I've  been  to  the  river,  which  is  ten  miles  awav. 
There  will  be  a  boat  ready  for  you  at  daylight.  You  can  cross  in 
safety.  Beyond  the  Potomac  you  will  find  friends,  of  course.  I 
will  give  you  all  the  directions  you  need." 

"What  about  Cautwell?  Hang  the  boat!"  cried  theimpatieut 
Booth.    "Have you  settled  that  human  bloodhound?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  find  him,"  said  Coxe,  "so  I  went  after  the 
boat." 

Booth's  jouutenance  fell. 

"  Must  we  Uy,  then  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Indeed  you  must.    Ton  are  not  safe  this  side  the  j-iver." 

*  We  will  go,  then  ;  but  the  journey  must  be  made  before  morn- 
ing." 

"  Of  course.  You  can't  get  to  the  river  in  the  daytime.  I'll  get 
everything  ready." 

Once  more  the  fugitives  were  left  alone  in  that  gloomy  room. 

Neither  spoke  a  word. 

Did  Booth  believe  that  the  hunt  for  him  would  soon  draw  to  an 
end? 

If  he  did  not  think  thus,  why  did  he  grate  his  teeth  whenever  he 
glanced  at  his  swollen  and  bandaged  leg  ? 

Just  before  daylight,  Coxe  returned,  and  announced  that  every- 
thing was  in  reaSiness  for  the  journey  to  the  Potomac. 

Horses  were  found  saddled  at  the  rebel's  door,  and  the  three 
men  mounted  and  rode  away. 

More  than  once  Wilkes  Booth  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  and 
tried  to  pierce  the  dark  shadows  they  were  leaving  behind,  as  if 
from  them  he  e.xpHcted  to  see  the  war  detective  emerge. 

Silas  Cantwell  dirt  not  show  himself,  however,  and  the  men 
reached  the  river,  wLei  e  they  hid  themselves  until  the  boat  should 
arrive. 

Coxe  went  to  a  certain  plai-e  along  the  bank,  inspected  it  for  a 
moment,  uttered  an  oath  of  disappointment,  and  went  bad' 

"No  boat  yet,"  he  said. 

Booth  bit  his  lip. 

No  boat,  and  daylight  was  near  at  hand  ! 

Not  until  the  mornmg  of  another  day  had  dawned  did  the  man 
who  was  to  furnish  the  boat  make  his  appearance. 

He  tied  the  boat  he  brought  by  a  stone  anchor,  and  went  away. 

"At  last,  thank  fortune!"  ejaculated  Booth,  when  told  that  the 
craft  was  ready.  •  We  will  now  put  a  river  between  us  and  the 
Yankee  beagles." 

All  three  crept  down  to  the  water,  and  Booth  and  Harold  en- 
tered the  boat. 

They  bade  Coxe  good-by,  and  Harold's  arms  sent  the  craft  spin- 
nine  toward  the  middle  of  the  Pwtomac. 

"We're  going  to  outwit  them!"  exclaimed  Booth,  in  good 
spirits.  "The  heart  of  the  Confederacy  will  soon  harbor  us,  boy, 
and  the  hero's  laurels  will  be  ours." 

Harold  smiled,  faintly,  and  bent  himself  to  the  work  before  him. 

The  boat  rapidly  approached  the  opposite  shore,  and  when 
Booth  stood  on  dry  ground  again,  a  cry  ol  exultation  broke  from 
his  lips. 

He  drew  a  small  map  from  an  inner  pocket,  ;iiirt  consulted  it 
closely  for  several  minutes. 

"Come!"  he  said,  suddenly,  to  his  companion.  -Tv"  got  ray 
bearings  now." 

At  that  very  moment  the  circle  of  doom  was  contraitiug  about 
him. 

Colonel  Baker's  men  were  at  work. 

They  had  set  out  from  Washington  in  high  spirits,  and  their 
chief's  judgment  was  leading  them  aright. 

A  number  of  days  had  passed  since  the  awful  tragedy  at  Waslu 
ington. 

Payne  had  been  arrested,  Mrs.  Surratt  had  fallen  into  the  hand< 
of  the  authorities. 

Atzeroth,  the  man  who  was  to  have  assassinated  Vice-president 
Johnson,  had  also  been  apprehended,  and  Spangler,  Arnold  and  a 
score  of  lesser  conspirators  were  in  prison. 

John  Surratt  had  effected  his  escape,  deserting  his  mother  tc 
the  gallows. 

The  whole  North  was  filled  wit 
insane  shot. 

The  martyr  president  had  been  borne  from  city  to  city,  and 
thousands  had  dropped  their  scalding  tears  upon  his  peaceful  face 

The  flag,  victorious  at  Appomattox,  hung  draped  on  its   shatter 

A  world  knelt  grief  stricken  at  Abraham  Lincoln's  bier,  ami 
America,  like  Rachel  weeping  for  her  dead,  refused  to  be  comfort- 
ed because  he  was  not. 

Let  us  return  to  the  Maryland  trail. 

It  was  night  when  a  company  of  about  twenty-five  Union 
troops  rode  into  Bowling  Green,  the  old-fashioned  court  house 
town  of  Caroline  county. 

The  soldiers  were  under  the  command  of  Lieutenant  Dougherty, 
and  the  two  detectives  with  the  squad  were  Lieutenant-colonel 
Conger  and  L.  B.  Baker,  cousin  to  the  chief  of  the  secret  service. 

These  men  were  hot  on  the  trail  of  Booth,  but  there  was  one 
man  who  had  tracked  him  just  as  well. 

"  Do  you  want  Wilkes  Booth  ?"  asked  a  man,  appearing  sudden- 
ly to  Conger  in  the  weary  watches  of  that  night. 

Conger  started,  and  saw  before  him  a  well  built  man,  apparent- 
ly fifty  years  of  age,  and  attired  in  very  plain  and  well  woni 
farmer  clothes. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  him  ?"  ejaculated  the  detective. 


ling,  the  result  of  Booth' 


"  A  good  deal,  perhaps." 

"Then  out  with  it." 

"  Well,  I  know  where  he  is." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  Lennox,  "  he  said. 

Conger  seized  the  speaker's  hand. 

"  And  you  know  where  he  is?" 

"I  do." 

"Then  let  us  finish  the  hunt." 

Three  minutes  later  the  little  company  moved  out  of  BowUng 

"Hold!"  said  Cantwell,  just  before  the  start,  "  there's  a  rebel 
captain  at  the  hotel  who  knows  where  Booth  is." 

"  Rout  him  out,"  said  Dougherty.  ,     ,,   ^ 

This  was  done,  and  a  half-dressed  Confederate  oaptam  who  had 
taken  the  crippled  Booth  on  his  horse  a  day  or  two  before,  was 
confronted  by  Yankee  carbines. 

"  Where  is  Wilkes  Booth  ?"  asked  Conger. 

"  You'll  find  him  at  Garrett's,"  was  the  reply. 

"  To  Garrett's,  then !"  was  the  cry,  and  away  went  the  trackers 
with  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  reward  to  urge  them  on 

CHAPTER  XXI 1. 

THE   assassin's   DOOM. 

A  Short  distance  from  the  main  road,  leading  from  Bowling 
Green  to  Port  Royal,  stood  a  plain  old  farmhouse,  which,  at  the 
time  of  which  we  write,  sheltered  a  family  named  Garrett. 

The  front  of  the  house  boasted  of  a  long  porch  of  old  Virginia 
style,  and  several  half  human  windows  glared  keenly  at  passer* 

Near  this  antiquated  structure  stood  a  barn,  showing  marks  of 
age  and  the  mark  of  storms,  and  nestling  close  to  it  were  a  number 
of  small  corn-cribs  and  deserted  cattle-sheds. 

The  dwelling-house  was  surrounded  by  locust  trees,  but  the  barn 
had  none  to  shade  it  from  the  sun's  hot  noonday  glare.  

Before  this  old  farmhouse,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Wilkes 
Booth's  tin-less  trackers  gladly  drew  rein. 

In  the  omiiiinis  silence  that  precedes  the  break  of  day.  Baker,  the 
detective,  approaili'-rt  (he  house  and  rapped  on  the  door. 

"Open  up,  here!'  he  shouted;  "we  want  to  see  you,  Garrett!" 

In  response  to  his  voice,  an  old  man  scantily  attired,  opened  the 
door,  and  Baker's  hand  flew  at  his  throat. 

"Where  are  your  guests?"  demanded  Baker,  at  whose  side  stood 
Silas  Cantwell.    "Speak  the  truth,  old  man,  or  lose  your  life!" 

Old  Garrett's  teeth  chattered ;  he  shook  from  head  to  foot,  but 
did  not  speak. 

"  Those  men— we  want   them.     Be  quick  !"  flashed  Baker. 

A  revolver  looked  into  the  farmer's  face. 

"They  ara  not  here;  they  have  gone— I  don't  know  where,"  he 
stammered.  .    ,      ... 

"That'sa  lie!"  grated  Silas  Cantwell.  •  Scatter  his  brains,  lieu- 
tenant!" 

At  this  juncture  a  young  inau  put  in  an  appearance  from  another 
part  of  the  house,  and  he  was  immediately  seized  by  the  Union 
men. 

A  quick  glance  passed  between  old  Garrett  and  the  young  man. 

"  Father,"  said  the  latter,  "let's  tell  the  truth.  I  think  it  will  be 
for  the  best,"  and  then  he  turned  to  the  inidnisht  visitors:  "  Gen- 
tlemen, the  men  you  want  are  in  the  barn.  They  went  there  to 
sleep." 

That  was  information  enough,  and  leaving  old  Garrett  at  the 
house  under  guard,  the  men-hunters  turned  toward  the  barn. 

The  old  trap  was  speedily  surrounded  by  the  troops,  who  were 
dismounted  for  the  purpose,  and  stood  at  regulai:  intervals  around 
it. 

Baker  stepped  forward  and  listened  for  a  moment. 

He  heard  a  rustling  of  straw  on  the  inside. 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  trail  at  last. 

Having  listened  for  a  moment  and  made  out  the  movements  of 
two  persons.  Baker  called  out: 

"  I  have  a  proposal  to  make  to  you  men  in  there.  I  will  send  in 
to  you  voung  Garrett.  Either  surrender  to  him  or  see  the  bam 
flred.  We  shall  take  you  alive,  or  have  a  shooting  match  with  our 
carbines." 

There  was  no  answer. 

It  Baker  could  have  looked  beyond  the  weather  boarding  of  the 
barn  at  that  moment  he  would  have  seeu  the  face  of  one  of  the  in- 
mates grow  pale,  while  the  eyes  of  the  other  flashed  madly. 

"  Wilkes,  they  are  too  many  for  us,"  said  the  pale  faced  youth. 
"  Hadn't  we  better  give  up  the  fight  ?" 

"What!  surrender?"  was  the  quick  response,  like  a  serpent's 
■         "slik        -      ■     -      ■ 


ike  a  dog !     Don't  mention  sur- 


side. 

"  Here  is  Garrett,"  said  Baker,  who  had  unlocked  the  door  of  the 
barn  by  this  time,  and  a  moment  later  the  farmer's  boy  was  pushed 
inside. 

"You've  got  cheek  to  come  here,"  cried  Booth's  voice,  in  bitter 
tones,  as  Garrett  confronted  him.  "  Get  out  of  here  !  You  have  ( 
betrayed  me!    I'll  kill  you  if  you  remain!" 

Fearing  for  his  life,  John  Garrett  crept  back  to  the  door  and  was 
let  out. 

Booth  now  stood  among  the  hay  leaning  on  a  crutch,  and  arraed 
with  a  revolver. 

A  look  of  stern  determination  lighted  up  his  mad  eyes. 

He*mn8t  have  realized  in  that  thrilling  moment  that  the  end  wa» 

"  I  wonder  if  Cantwell  is  out  there  ?"  he  muttered.  "  I'd  like  to 
4rive  a  bullet  into  his  brain  first.    I  oould  die  then !" 

He  started  forward,  but  stopped  suddenly,  and  then  shrunk  from 
\he  cracks. 

All  at  once  the  gleam  of  a  candle  dazzled  his  eyes. 

Then  he  heard  Baker's  voice: 

"  You  must  surrender  in  there,"  the  detective  said.  "  Pass  out 
your  firearms.  There's  no  chance  for  you.  We  give  you  five 
viinntes  to  decide." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  us?"  asked  Booth. 

'  You  know  very  well." 


24 


THE  WAR  LIBRARY. 


"  Is  Silae  Cautwell  out  there  ?"  he  asked. 

The  war  detective  answered  for  himself. 

"  I  am  here." 

As  Booth  went  back  to  his  old  post  an  oath  fell  from  his  lips. 

"  We've  waited  long  enough  on  you,  Booth,"  said  Baker.  "If 
you  don't  surrender,  we'll  Are  the  barnl" 

"  Withdraw  your  forces  one  hundred  yards  from  the  barn  and  I 
will  come,"  was  the  reply.  "  Give  me  a  chance,  captain.  I  will 
never  be  taken  alive.  I  am  ready  to  die.  Get  ready  a  stretcher 
forme." 

A  hand  fell  on  Booth's  arm  as  he  tluished. 

"There  are  no  hopes,  Wilkes " 

"Silence!"  thuudered  Booth.  "You  are  a  coward,  Harold. 
Payne  said  you  would  shrink  at  the  last  hour.  Get  away  from 
here.    I'll  die  without  you.    Go!" 

Then  Booth  shouted  to  the  men  outside. 

"  Here's  a  coward  who  wants  to  surrender.     Let  him  out." 

Harold  had  already  glided  to  the  door,  and  was  waiting  to  be 
taken  prisoner. 

He  was  soon  gratified  in  this  desire,  and  Booth  was  now  the  sole 
occunaut  of  the  barn. 

Colonel  Conger  now  took  the  candle  and  touched  its  name  to 
some  straw  which  he  drew  from  a  crack. 

The  nt'xt  moment  the  flre  shot  toward  the  roof,  and  a  curse 
came  from  the  man  inside ! 

It  was  a  fearful  scene. 

Higher  and  higher  leaped  the  angry  flames,  as  it  eager  to  en- 
velop the  assassin^s  last  retreat  in  speedy  ruin. 

The  soldiers  and  all  outside  looked  wonderingly  on. 

They  saw  the  interior  of  the  barn,  as  the  flre  made  progress; 
they  also  saw  Booth  drawn  to  his  full  stature,  calmly  awaiting  his 
merited  doom. 

Silas  Cantwell  moved  forward  and  put  his  eye  to  a  crack. 

That  instant.  Booth  caught  sight  of  his  persistent  foe. 

"  You  11  go  before  me,  Silas!"  he  hissed,  creeping  forward,  his 
eyes  on  tire,  and  fixed  on  the  detective's  face. 

He  had  exchanged  his  levolver  for  the  carbine  whicli  HmuM 
had  carri'-d  from  Lloyd's  hotel,  at  Surrattsville,  and  his  finger  was 
at  the  easy  trigger. 

Did  Cuiitwell  see  him  1 

Ko  ;  tht'  tire  raging  around  Booth  obstructed  his  v 


He  would  send  another  soul  ahead  of  him  into  eternity,  and 
that  soul  sliduld  be  t'.int  well's. 

He  saw  only  Silas,  not  the  dark  faced,  Puritan-like  soldier  who 
was  covering  liim  with  a  carbine. 

"Now,  Silas,  for  hell  ahead  of  me!"  he  cried. 

The  next  instant  a  loud  report  rose  above  the  crackling  flames, 
and  the  inaguidceiit  figure  of  Wilkes  Booth,  toppling  forward,  fell 
heavilv  to  the  floor! 

B.iston  Corbett's  bullet  win  in  his  brain! 

A  loud  shout  followed  the  shot,  the  barn  door  was  jerked  open, 
ai'  '  th.   hreathi.ig  carcass  of  the  assassin  dragged  forth. 

They  laid  him  on  the  grass  in  the  glare  of  the  burning  barn,  and 
gave  him  water. 

After  awhile  the  soldiers  carried  him  to  the  old  farm-house,  and 
l»id  him  on  the  porch. 

There  the  whole  ci'owd  gathered  around  him. 

For  awhile  the  assassin's  eyes  wandered  wildly,  then  they  be- 
came tlxed  on  one  man— the  war  detective. 

Silas  Cautwell  approached  and  bent  over  the  murderer. 

Booth  tried  to  speak ;  he  wauted  to  say  something  about  Cant- 
well's  persistent  hunt,  but  he  had  not  the  power. 

Suddeulv  his  fiead  fell  back,  the  death  gurgle  sounded  in  his 
throat,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  triumphantly  on  Cantwell,  he  mut- 
tered : 

"  Useless— useless,"  and  died  ! 

Yes,  useless  had  been  his  life,  and  the  shot  he  had  fired  to  avenge 
the  Confederacy  had  killed  more  than  one. 

Silas  Cantwell  looked  down  into  the  murderer's  face  a  moment 
and  turned  away. 

There  seemed  a  glitter  of  victory  in  the  war  detective's  eyes. 

He  had  keps  his  word. 

He  stood  at  the  end  of  Wilkes  Booth's  crimson  trail. 

In  a  saddle  blanket  they  sewed  him  up,  making  it  his  shroud, 
and  shoved  the  corps  into  an  old  negro's  wagon. 

Wilkes  Booth  was  going  back  to  the  scene  of.  his  crime — to 
Washington. 

Retribution  had  followed  him  without  a  moment's  rest. 

Vengeance  guided  by  justice  had  tracked  him  down. 

Harold  rode  behind  the  corpse  of  his  friend  and  master,  guarded 
by  Union  cavalrymen. 

He  was  riding  to  the  gallows. 

Silas  Cantwell  entered  the  capital  with  tin  l.i..l\  uf  ISooth. 

The  excitement  was  intense. 

"  I  wonder  what  Payne  will  say  when  he  seis  me  ?"  said  the  de- 
tective, to  himself.  "  He  doesn't  dream  that  I  escaped  from  his 
man-trap.  I  will  appear  to  him  like  a  ghost,  but  first  I  must  see 
Paul  and  his  friend,  and  Stella.' 

Stella  V 

Yes  the  girl  who  Inid  given  her  heart  to  Wilkes  Booth. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


the  step  o\  the  humble  house  on  C  street  where  Stella  had 
lodgings. 

In  response  to  his  knock  the  door  was  opined  by  a  woman  who 
told  him  that  the  person  he  sought  was  up  stairs. 

The  w;ir  detective  mounted  the  stops  almost  noiselessly,  and 
rapped  at  Stella's  door. 

There  was  no  responsf . 

After  waiting  a  nioinent  and  then  rejjeatuig  the  raps  with  the 
same  results — silence — Cautwell  pushed  open  the  door  which  stood 

*  Li"-ht  enough  came  in  at  thewindow^to  show  him  the  figure  of  a 
woman  bent  over  a  table  In.themiddle^the  room. 


The  girl  did  not  look  up ;  she  did  not  move. 

Somewhat  uonplussed,  Cantwell  leaned  forward  and  touibnii 
her  form. 

It  was  cold ! 

A  nameless  thrill  shot  through  the  war  detective's  frame. 

He  raised  Stella's  head— raised  it  reverently,  and  saw  in  lu-r 
beautiful  eyes  a  stare  that  told  all. 

Stella  was  dead! 

For  a  minute  Silas  Cantwell  gazed  iuto  the  pallid  face,  never 
seeing  the  folded  paper  that  lay  where  her  cheek  had  touched  the 
table. 

Whe,n  he  did  see  it,  he  eagerly  snatched  it  up. 

"That  handsome  face  of  Booth's  did  it  all,"  uMinunred  the  war 
detective,  finishing  the  letter  with  a  sigh.  '  Your  lust  requout 
shall  ne  obeyed,  poor  child." 

A  brief  .search  revealed  an  empty  phial. 

It  lay  on  the  floor  at  Stella's  feet,  and  words— '  prussio  acid  "  on 
the  label  told  the  story  of  the  end. 

Cantwell  went  down  stairs  and  told  the  woman  thereof  his 
startling  discovery. 

Need  we  say  that  tender  hands  arrayed  Stella  for  the  grave, 
or  that  pitving  tears  fell  upon  her  sweet,  cold  Jiiee  ere  it  was  laid 
awav  forev.i  ? 

"  Come!  you  and  I,"  said  a  man,  to  Silas  Cantwell  on  the  twenty- 
seventh  of  April.  "  You  want  to  see  the  end  of  it  all.  Then,  come 
with  me."  '' 

The  war  detective  and  his  chief  took  the  bodj-  of  Wilkes  Booth 
and  bore  it— not  out  into  the  Potomac,  as  it  was  supposed,  but  to 
the  old  peneteutiary,  near  the  arsenal  grounds. 

There  they  found  an  old  cell  filled  almost  with  rusty  ammuni- 
tion. 

The  cannon-balls  had  not  been  disturbed  for  years. 

The  two  men  removed  some  of  these;  they  took  up  the  fiag- 
stones,  and  dug  a  grave  by  the  light  of  their  lantern. 

When  the  pit  was  finisheil,  tiiey  lowered  iuto  it  the  liody  of  thii 
a<'tor-as8assiu,  and  cover  d  it  with  earth. 

"Ah!"  suddenly  said  Cantwell,  looking  his  last  upon  thegrave 
ere  he  left.  "It  Payne  had  not  sprung  his  mau-trap  upon  me, 
Lincoln  might  be  alive  and  Wilkes  Booth  not  here.  I  caunot  tell 
you  my  thoughts,  colonel,  while  1  hung  alongside  that  pit  under 
the  stair  feeling  the  huge  blocks  of  woods  graze  my  head  as  they 
came  down ;  bnt  I  think  I  swore  to  live  to  see  the  end.  I  laid  for 
hours  delirious  in  that  celler  before  Pauline  found  me,  and  after 
all,  Payne's  trap  did  not  save  Booth.  Neither  will  it  save  his 
neok." 

"  Why  did  you  go  to  that  house?"  asked  Baker. 

"I  was  a  fool.  It  was  the  great  error  of  my  detective  life,  but 
we  must  all  make  one  mistake,  I  suppose.  I  got  a  letlei—a  wom- 
an's letter— telling  me  that  an  invalid  there  could  and  would  tell 
mo  the  whole  plot.  I  swallowed  the  bait.  I  went;  the  stairs  gave 
way  beneath  me.  I  was  caught  in  Lewis  Payne's  man-trap,"  and 
Cantwell  finished  with  a  smile. 


We  might  closeour  romance  here  if  the  reader  did  not  expect  ua 
to  follow  the  other  conspirators  to  their  doom. 

They  were  all  captured. 

Mrs.  Surratt,  with  Payne,  Harold,  and  Atzerotli  were  executed 
at  the  same  time  from  the  same  scaffold. 

Just  before  the  execution  Payne  was  observed  to  start  and  utter 
a  low  exclamation  of  terror. 

Below  the  gallows  stood  a  man,  with  folded  arms  and  triumph- 
ant look. 

Payne  had  just  encountered  his  glance,  and,  as  if  a  ghost  had 
suddenly   confronted  him,  he  recoiled,  turned  pale,  and  gasped. 

Then  he  knew  that  his  man-trap  had  failed  to  kili;  tbatSilaa 
Cantwell,  the  war  detective,  was  there  in  theflesh  to  see  him  die. 

And  like  a  brutal  murderer  he  died,  without  an  eye  of  pity  fixed 
upon  him,  and  without  taking  the  hand  of  a  living  friend. 

Shortly  after  the  bursting  of  Booth's  crimson  bubble,  Paul,  who 
had  recovered  his  health,  led  Pauline  to  the  altar,  and  the  two 
lovers  commenced  a  life  whose  happiness  nothing  has  marred  to 
this  day. 

Leon  Lennox,  or  Silas  Cantwell,  as  we  have  known  him,  is  stil 
alive,  but  has  retired  from  detective  life. 

With  the  weight  of  seventy  years  upon  him  he  is  speuding  bis 
remaining  days  in  peace,  recalling  often,  no  doubi,  bis  part  in  that 
most  dreadful  drama  of  the  whole  war— the  plot  against  Lincoln. 

Our  injudicious  conspirator.  Colonel  Lovelace  Opal,  whose  hear*, 
was  willing,  although  his  tongue  was  his  worst  enemy,  fled  to  Cuba 
after  the  assassination,  aud  even  there  trembled  tor  a  year  at  every 
footfall,  and  started  at  every  shadow. 

He  is  absent  still. 

Here  we  lay  aside  the  pen,  having  told  as  best  we  could  the  ro- 
mance aud  reality  of  the  darkest  drama  ever  enacted  on  Amerioan 
soil. 

May  it  never  be  repeated, 

[THE   END.] 


Linitoer    333. 

tlie   Scoxt-t; 


A    Fight    for    Beauregard's    Dispatches. 

.1   Stiinj  (if  Pittsbarri  Landing. 

nt   (APT -MX  ILEAN  VERNE. 


TS'tiiiiber    334,. 

•To    HOI'S©;' 


The    Winged    Scout    of    Georgia. 

Bi'    AXTHOXY   P.    MORKIS. 


